


Bitch (is what you'll think of me)

by icygrl14



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Chloe is badass, Chloè redemption, Fantasy, Hawkmoth, Kwamis - Freeform, Love, Magic, Mystery, Revenge, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Violence, more plot than the tv show, most characters from the tv show don’t show up until later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrl14/pseuds/icygrl14
Summary: After being transported from Paris like a parcel with damages, Chloe tries to figure out what the hell is going on in her life. Nowhere close to her home or her money, 16-year old Chloe Bourgeois has herself and only herself to depend on.Surviving on her own is one thing but being chased by ugly, annoying creatures that shouldn’t exist is a whole another.Join Chloe on her journey in which she learns the rules of the world, meets crazy middle-aged ladies with horrible fashion sense, gets chased by monsters, and tries not to lose her heart to a wicked, dreadfully handsome man.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for checking this out! This book will be focused on Chloe and her redemption. But don’t worry! There will be hot guys, caring aunts, roller coaster ride of emotions, powers, kwamis and so much more! Please feel free to point out any plot holes or mistakes. Also tell me your opinion on everything.

~~O~~

  
Snow was falling,  
So much like stars  
Filling the dark trees  
That one could easily imagine  
Its reason for being was nothing  
More than prettiness.

~~O~~

Like a dark stain on a beautiful white cloth, a black limousine drove through the beautiful snow-covered streets of Paris, successfully disrupting the serenity and calmness of the evening.

But the young woman sitting inside couldn’t care less about that. She had better, more important things to worry about.

She was gorgeous, that young woman, with stunning blue eyes and her light honey-blond hair tied up in a half-ponytail. She was dressed in a short, grayish fur coat with a peach pink shirt underneath and white, high-rise jeans.

Nervously, she took out her compact mirror to check her appearance again. What will happen once I get there? Will they believe me?

Suddenly, she felt a strong sense of deja vu and started laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

She is Chloe Bourgeois, for God’s sake!

The things she was scared of could be counted on one hand. And coming back to Paris is _not_ one of those things!

Amused, the alluring woman in front of her raised an eyebrow. Chloe quickly stopped laughing, realizing that she probably sounded a bit crazy.

 _You’re crazy_ , her eyes said.

 _Oh shut up_ , Chloe wrinkled her nose.

Laughing, they both clinked their glasses in silent cheers. Gulping down the champagne, Chloe thought of everything that was at stake.

She sighed. Whatever their reactions may be, good or bad, it wouldn't be her fault so she should stop worrying. The truth is the truth and nothing can change that. It would only be her fault if she doesn't make them realize the severity of the situation.

The limo came to a stop. _We've arrived._

Taking a deep breath, Chloe steeled herself and stepped out of the limo, her Christian Louboutin heels clicking. She surveyed the empty streets with unreadable eyes. _If I am not calm right now, I'll be destroying our only chance._

 _Resolve this_ , she told herself, _Resolve this utterly ridiculous situation and then you can go back to him. Go back home._

Chloe closed her eyes, refusing to show the vulnerability in them. She felt like a little child burdened with the weight of the world. She took in a stuttering breath, her memories of Paris plaguing her. _Home_ , the voice said again, _You can go back to him._

Chloe took in a deep breath, slowly opening her determined eyes. She assessed her surroundings again.

 _This is your home now_ , her jaw tightened as she corrected the voice, _And it’s in danger._

Giving off an extremely intimidating aura, Chloe put on her exclusive Prada Cat Eye Sunglasses and adjusted her fur coat. With her face looking otherworldly in the light from the sunset, and her presence screaming _Dangerous_ _,_ Chloe was unapproachable.

 ** _Danger? We’ll see about that. After all..._** , Chloe Bourgeois strutted forward, her head tilting arrogantly, **_I’m here now. And no one can threaten my home and get away with it._**

She tripped.

And her _friend_ 's laughter echoed through the evening as if there was no tomorrow.

~~O~~


	2. The Reality of an Ugly Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys~ If you guys find that the Chloe in my book is acting out of character, please tell me and I'll fix it accordingly.

Ugh.

It’s so cold.

Why is it so cold?!

I turned around to lay on my back.

Oww! Fucking hell!

I jerked my eyes open, my hand going to my hurt shoulder. My senses came back to me in a rush.

I was not in bed. It was dark and I was lying down in a field. Alone.

I somehow have a bone sticking out of my left shoulder.

A couple of my ribs are broken, both my legs are fractured, my right wrist and left shoulder are dislocated. I have a deep gash on my back and bruises all over my body and there is blood running down my head. 

After those few seconds of disbelief, I realize just how serious this whole thing was. I was dying. I’m bleeding to death in the middle of stupid overgrown weeds for god’s sake! I need to get out of here! I frantically look around, finding a small house about 30 meters away. Maybe the person living there would be kind enough to help me?

Trying to ignore my injuries, I drag myself toward the house, leaving a trail of dark blood.

~~O~~

Tears were staining my cheeks, I’m sure my eyes are bloodshot and… this is too hard. I can’t make it. The house is too far away. It hurts too much. I’ve put too much strain on my wrist. I can’t feel my legs anymore. All I can see, hear, smell, and feel is pain. And blood. I’ve lost so much blood. Too much. I won’t be able to make it and...

I come to a stop. This is ridiculous. So ridiculous. And funny. To think that _Chloe_ Bourgeois, the daughter of the mayor of Paris, is dying. I try to laugh but it hurts too much. Except… it’s not that funny now, is it? I am going to bleed to death in the middle of nowhere, alone, miserable, and sorry for myself, aren’t I?

I look up at the full moon. I’m crying more than I ever had. I probably look so ugly right now. The moon and the stars are so beautiful. It’s a shame I won’t be seeing them again. I want to see everything one last time. Daddy, Adrien, Ladybug, Sabrina, Butler Jean, the annoying idiot, and my stupid classmates. I grimace.

_“I’m— Ouch! What the hell?!”_

I whipped my head down to glare at the stupid pest that decided to interrupt my little moment. It was a bee. Oh. Then maybe I’m not mad anymore. I give it an accusing look for stinging me. It was buzzing loudly and flying in little circles in front of my face. Aren’t bees cute? It came and stung me in the same spot. Then it started flying towards the house. Oh. Ohh. Maybe I should go too.

Grunting, I pulled myself up. Honestly what even came over me. I was not going to just give up and die. Chloe Bourgeois does not give up! I was going to get to that damned house and I am not going to die on the way! The pain from the sting gave me something to focus on and made it a bit easier to get going.

~~O~~

I was by the entrance now and I knew that I didn't have enough energy to make it to the door. I need to figure out something-- I can’t handle the pain much longer. Spotting a couple of pots beside the doorway, I knock them over, hoping that the person inside will be alerted. I was losing consciousness.

 _I want to be back home,_ I close my eyes.

~~O~~

Turns out, God didn’t grant me my wish. Make no mistake, I don’t believe in God. It always amuses me when people pray to God, hoping that “he” would grant them their wish. He never did anything to help people and he never will. I would know. When I was a child, stupid little me prayed to God, asking for my mother to wish me a happy 8th birthday. She didn’t. Jean said that maybe I wasn’t on my best behavior and that God was angry with me. Maybe that was true, but he certainly didn’t grant sweet Adrien his wish to make his father less bitchy! There couldn’t have been another child that was more well behaved than him.

And even if there was a god, it should be a woman. Honestly Ariana Grande outdid herself on _God is a Woman._

Anyway, this God, if he actually exists, he seems to _really_ like playing with my life.

~~O~~

I woke up with a pounding headache and feeling sore. But when I saw where I was, I swear my headache got even worse.

I was lying down on top of a bright blue mattress covered with weird designs. There were two bright yellow chairs and a dark brown center table in front of the mattress. The furniture was sitting on top of a bright red carpet and the walls were pink.

**…**

**…**

**…**

“WHO THE FUCK DESIGNED THIS ROOM?!” I screeched. “HOW IS THIS EVEN _POSSIBLE?!?!”_

I took a deep breath. _Calm down,_ I told myself, _Get your shit back together. Chloe Bourgeois doesn’t scream like a harpy._

While I was trying to get my head wrapped around the idea - _reality_ \- that such an ugly room could exist, an old lady wearing a weird dress came into the room with hurried footsteps. When she saw me, her lips twisted up into a creepy smile. I gulped.

I needed to get my life back on track. I have fatal injuries. I don’t know where I am. There is nobody I know with me. I was in a disaster of a room in the clutches of a creepy old woman. And I was wearing an ugly, green piece of cloth (I refuse to call it a dress). And yes, I needed to point that out.

_That’s okay Chloe, just pretend you are doing one of those apparently-this-shit-might-happen problems from your class._

Okay, I can do this.

There are 2 potential exits from this place. One of them is probably another room and I didn’t know which one.

There is nothing that can be used as a weapon in immediate reach but this room is connected to a kitchen so I guess I could find something there.

My injuries don’t hurt as much but I’m sure I could take down an old lady even with my injuries. I start getting up to kick her butt when she does something unexpected: put a gentle hand on my cheek and press her other hand to my forehead.

**…**

Uhh. Do kidnappers do that? Probably not.

It’s alright. I can handle this crazy lady.

Plan B: Get the hell out of here. Contact someone and ask them to get me out.

“Do you have a phone or something?” I ask.

She tilts her head, confused. Well, she does look a bit different from the usual French and American. Maybe she speaks a different language?

I nodded, deciding this doesn’t make her worthy of my wrath. I’ll try gesturing my message to her. I make exaggerated motions of picking up a phone, dialing, bringing it to my ear, and moving my lips to make it look like I’m talking.

She furrowed her eyebrows and slightly frowned, still looking incredibly confused. All of a sudden, everything starts to make sense to me. The field. With only one house. The house. With no garage or any sign of a vehicle. The living/drawing room with no TV, air conditioning, no electronics. The fucking kitchen with no actual stove or oven or microwave. Oh my god.

I can’t believe this.

I gape at her in horror.

OH MY FUCKING GOD

~~O~~

I’ve got to get more credit you know? Like seriously. I wake up in a weird place, alone, bleeding, and about to die. But then, in that horrid state, I managed to _drag_ myself to a house, fighting to stay alive. And when I wake up? I see a room done by the worst interior designer on earth and get confronted by a creepy old lady. And as if _that_ wasn’t enough, I discover that the creepy old lady doesn’t speak English or French or any of the other languages I know and is fucking _isolated_ from the world. Does anybody blame me for being angry and upset and frustrated and grumpy?

Anyway, I concluded that I should probably shut off the part of my brain that is stressing about this disastrous situation if I want to continue to make logical decisions and not break into a hysterical fit. Distracting myself with something else seems to be the most advisable method.

My thoughts were interrupted when the old lady came down the staircase. I long deemed her as innocent. She brought me a beverage, I think it was tea? I drank it and it was delicious. Hmm. The old lady was actually rather nice. Nevertheless, I had no intention of associating myself with her. I suppose I should be a bit more courteous to my “savior” or even thank her but that's just not my style.

And since I couldn’t exactly move around to explore, I went for the next best thing: find out everything about this person and mercilessly criticize her for entertainment.

She sat by the counter that separates the kitchen from this room and was reading a book. I assessed her thoughtfully. The old lady was about 5’3 with slanted brown eyes and a light skin tone. She was wearing a long black skirt and a type of thin red dress that stopped a couple of inches above the hem of her skirt. It was slit from the hips on both sides and had wide (I think they’re called kimono?) sleeves. Her creamed-colored right collar covered her left one and ended on her left side. There were also beautiful embroidered flowers covering her outfit. **(A/N- this is the link for the[dress](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fancientchineselifeofwomen.weebly.com%2Fclothes-and-jewelry.html&psig=AOvVaw1vfu29MJekmX7Lw7c2byLS&ust=1591309132519000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCIjDxM_W5ukCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAR). It's the 3rd one in the 2nd row)**

I have to admit, although the dress was unfamiliar, it was utterly gorgeous. I can’t tell her exact body shape but seeing her soft face and high cheekbones, she was probably stunning in her youth. She was actually quite beautiful, even with the wrinkles in her face and arms. But what caught my attention was her hair. Her silky, black hair was long, ending right below her butt. Her hair was parted in the middle and had 2 identical streaks of white hair that went down her sides from the top of her head. When the old lady shifted (probably uncomfortable from how I was shamelessly staring at her), the bright sun shined on her hair from a new angle and I swear I saw silver strands from under her black hair.

What the hell? It's like her hair was done by one of my stylists. And...is it okay for me to call her an old lady? To me, any person with a single wrinkle is old. But this woman is so stunning…

“How old are you?” The question came out before I could stop it. I didn’t want to talk with a person who lived in such hideous rooms.

Her eyes snapped up to mine. I blushed in embarrassment, she clearly didn’t understand me and I stupidly forgot that. I awkwardly pointed to myself and then raised 10 fingers. I glanced at her to make sure she saw them before putting my hands down to raise only 5 fingers. Then I pointed at her, hoping she understood what I was trying to say.

I think she got the meaning because she looked a bit taken aback before she gave me one of her creepy smiles. Then she slowly held up six fingers and then put them down to only raise five. My jaw dropped to the floor. She looked at me with a questioning gaze, asking me if I got her answer. After a couple of moments, I managed to get myself back together and nodded to her. I observed her even more intensely when she went back to her book.

Whoa. She looks like she is about 50 but she actually is 65 years old. What the hell? What creams does she even use? I need to figure that out. I need to do the same skincare as her. Maybe I can find out what her secret is while I’m here.

STOP! I can’t think about me being here. Ok, I need to get out of that train of thought. So...I know about her looks, but they are too beautiful for me to say anything bad about them. Maybe I should find out about her personality. After all, her personality might not be so beautiful.

My eyes roamed the walls in the living room. There was an 18 x 36-inch painting hung on one of the walls. It depicted a picturesque waterfall and a town under it. The people in the painting were wearing peculiar clothes, much like the one the old lady was wearing. The houses, landscapes, animals, everything in the painting were foreign to me. The whole thing looked magical and otherworldly. Hmm, I wonder where she bought that. I am not one for landscape paintings but I like this one.

The rest of the walls were covered by shelves. There was a medium-sized bookcase, and there was a white cupboard with glass doors that displayed many vases, china, and other delicate stuff. And there were floating shelves filled with antique plates, jars, small animals (some were made of brass and others were made with god-knows-what), scrolls, and all kinds of other stuff. The staircase was also decorated with all these small paintings with a huge-ass antique clock in the middle.

Damn. How did I not notice all this before? I’m disappointed with myself.

Granted, all these multi-colored things that are stuffed into this small room are giving me a headache but this lady has some pretty interesting stuff. Daddy would love to have them in his collection.

But...this just raised even more questions! And I don’t know whether that’s a good or a bad thing in my situation. On one hand, it gives me more stuff to distract myself with. But on the other, do I need more things to stress about?

Completely disregarding my internal conflict, the question remains: If the old lady is isolated, where did all this stuff come from?

_What I want doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t matter if it’s a good or a bad thing for me. It’s going to happen anyway._

My eyes welled up in tears but I refused to even have one of them roll down my cheeks. My body indicated calmness while I desperately tried to unravel the knots in my mind. _I don’t have a say in anything now._ An involuntary whimper escaped me. I quickly pulled the blanket over my head, embarrassed that the old lady might’ve heard me. I swipe at my eyes but the tears come down anyway. My shoulders shook with sobs as I tried not to make any noises.

_I'm outside of my control zone. Whatever the old lady decides is going to be finally here._

After crying for a long, long time, I fell asleep with only one thought swirling through my mind:

_What happened to my life?_

~~O~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh...Chloe is stuck with a mysterious old lady, separated from her comfort zone. I'm so excited to work on chloe's character development! please comment on what you think~


	3. Stupid Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> First of all, I want to say that the mayor might be oblivious but he’s not dumb. He most likely made sure that Chloe received proper education if not pushed her to study more, much like Gabriel with Adrien.
> 
> Second of all, Chloe is pretty smart. She is a person who analyses and observes everything that's going on around her. She might have unreasonable opinions about fashion and some other things and be high-key dramatic all the damn time but she is a person who knows what she wants, what she has, and how to get more.
> 
> Also, keep in mind that Chloe is aged up in my story. She’s not the same 13-year old Chloe.
> 
> That’s it, enjoy!

~~O~~

I couldn’t see the clock in the darkness so I don’t know the exact time at which I woke up. There were three candles on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and I felt a small amount of gratefulness towards the old lady for it, considering that, of course, she put them up with my well-being in mind. I would’ve freaked out if I had woken in a dark, unfamiliar room. Especially since I haven’t come to terms with the fact that I’m not in my home yet.

I looked around, a bit bored. I couldn’t very well go back to sleep seeing how early I fell asleep yesterday...after my little outburst. I don’t usually care about my behavior, or how it affects others for that matter. It’s just—I just don’t want to be seen as dumb or weak. And this old lady, since she doesn’t know about my real identity, might dare to accuse me of such things. 

Nonetheless, I’m still utterly embarrassed for reacting that way. I scoffed at myself. I was so...foolish. If what I want doesn’t matter, and things are still going to happen anyway, then I’ll make sure that whatever happens will go **my** way. 

The light from one of the candles flickered and then got extinguished. I watched as the room got a little darker. Maybe...Maybe it’s time I confront my problems...and my feelings. I took a deep breath. What do I feel like right now?

I want to throw a tantrum right now. Just yell a bit, hurt somebody, spend some money, and use my family name to get someone else to solve my problems for me. That always helps me. But I can’t do that. The old lady was probably upstairs and I didn’t want to embarrass myself further by waking her up and yelling at her in French. I couldn’t hurt anybody because there was no one else besides the old lady. I can’t spend money because I don’t have any with me. And I can’t use my family name to get anything because there was nobody else and the old lady just doesn’t _understand_!

I took another deep breath, but I made sure not to close my eyes. Only idiots would believe that closing their eyes would always be helpful. My therapist told me that closing my eyes when taking a deep breath sometimes would just make the emotion stronger and I agree with her. Ok, so what emotions am I feeling right now? _Frustration,_ I realized. _I’m frustrated because I can’t throw a tantrum. And helpless. I want someone else to deal with my problems but I’m the only one who can solve them. I’m the only one who has to solve my problems._

It took me some time to get used to this new revelation. At some point, tears were running down my cheeks but I didn’t care now. The darkness would shield my vulnerability and promise me privacy. And the light from the candles was a constant reminder that this hollow feeling in my heart was temporary and assured me that it was okay for me to feel this way.

**_…_ **

_Damn. When did I get so mind-numbingly poetic? Whatever._

Anyway, once I somewhat accepted this epiphany, I set out to find the next thing I wanted to come to terms with. The first part was to get accustomed to my current feelings. For the second part, I have two options to choose from: reflect on my current situation and figure out the next step to my non-existent plan, or try to recall and analyze the events leading up to my demise and speculate what caused my life to become such a mess.

Hmm. I honestly don’t think I can handle the trauma of recalling my previous life. I would just constantly be comparing where I am right now to how I lived before and get nowhere with my investigation. And it would be beneficial if I work on my next step forward. And while I work on that, if I feel mentally strong enough, I can confront what happened. I looked at the candles. I’m really glad that they’re there.

Okay, so I'm stuck in this ugly house with beautiful paintings and a beautiful old lady. I took another deep breath. _That’s alright,_ I told myself, _the old lady is nice, and maybe you can figure out her skincare routine while you’re here!_ That _is_ true. And while it’s not a luxury to be here, it’s not complete hell either.

I took some time to let that sink in too. I can’t speed up my mental healing if I don’t want to break down in front of the old lady like earlier. I repeated to myself: _I’m staying here, and that’s fine._ Once I got used to the idea-- no, the _reality of the idea,_ I moved on to figure out my next step.

I want to get out of here and go back to Paris. The different ways I could do that:

  * Have Jean get the Bourgeois private jet to pick me up
  * Have Jean get a car (limousine, preferably) to pick me up



My throat tightened and I took a short intake of breath when I realized that I can’t do that. _I can’t have Jean do anything because I can’t even contact him!_ Complete helplessness converted into tears that rained down on my face at lightning speed. _I’m completely alone. I don’t know what to do._ I huddled into myself, feeling smaller than ever, as my body wracked with the onslaught of sobs and tears. _I hate feeling like this. I just want to go home._

~~O~~

I was sitting up with my legs resting on a pillow. The last two hours were...eventful to say the least. I had woken up with red, swollen eyes and was positively starving. Then the old lady came and gave me a pecan-colored bark or a stick or something with frayed ends. Next, she put some kind of powder that she brought with her on the frayed end. I was very confused at first but then I realized that this was supposed to be my brush and toothpaste. I was very unwilling to use it but I was hungry and the old lady was cooking something that smelled _divine._

So I reluctantly brushed my teeth with the bark thingy. It felt weird, feeling small grains everywhere in my mouth instead of minty toothpaste; I had to rinse like 5 times to get them all out. Then came the most humiliating part of all: going to the bathroom. Slightly blushing, I pointed at my butt and then rubbed it. Seeing this, the old lady started laughing. I blushed harder. I wanted to be mad at her but she didn’t seem to be mocking me. Then, the old lady turned sideways, deep squatted, put a hand near her butt, and then her finger came down from her butt slowly. I blushed furiously when I understood the meaning; I was legit red from the top to my head to my shoulders. She tilted her head in a questioning manner with a small smile on her face. My mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish. Then, I slowly, _painfully_ , nodded once.

She chuckled again, came closer to me, and lifted me. I yelped and held on to her neck, but her grip was strong. The old lady carried me to the door beside my small bed and it turns out that it wasn’t a bedroom or the entrance but the bathroom. The bathroom was rather small in size, much like the rest of the house. It was divided into two parts: the first one had a small indent in the ground with a hole. The indent and the hole was surrounded by tiles. It was...new to me. I had never seen anything like it before. The other half of the bathroom was partly covered by a curtain with plum blossoms embroidered into it. There was a bucket, a mug, a tap, and a drain in the middle of the floor. This was obviously where I would take a shower in my time here. But where is the toilet…? Oh. 

I paled. My whole body shivered with disgust and I suddenly didn’t want to go to the toilet. My horror-filled eyes lifted to meet with the old lady’s gentle ones. She was smiling, probably trying to reassure me but all I could see was that I was in the devil’s arms, a devil with smirking lips and sadistic eyes. My eyes widened with panic, my eyebrows furrowed, and my lips parted into a horrified gape. It was eerie, how my face twisting into a terrified expression was in complete sync with her mouth widening into a grin, and her delighted eyes winking at me.

~~O~~

I ended up sitting down with my legs wide open and my butt directly above the hole in the so-called, barbaric version of a toilet. I believe squatting was the right method to use this toilet but I couldn’t put any pressure on my feet. After I finished my business, I wiped myself with some leaves I found beside the toilet and dumped them in that blasted hole as well.

The old lady stood a couple of feet away with her back facing me. When I had gestured for her to leave the bathroom, she adopted an extremely concerned expression; I knew that she wasn’t all that concerned but she did have a point in being cautious so I let her stay. It was rather humiliating but I wasn’t about to risk anything just because of stupid emotions.

I washed my hands in the designated place for showers and glared at the old lady as she picked me up again. She took me back to my bed and placed a huge pillow on the ground to rest my legs on. Then, she brought me a plate of pasta-like food. I eagerly took the meal from her and finished it in a couple of minutes. Then, shamelessly, I proceeded to ask for 2 more servings. She chuckled with a happy smile and served me more, seemingly flattered by my eagerness. I don’t know if the food really did taste that good as I was so hungry I would’ve even allowed myself to eat pizza.

After the whole eating program, the old lady went off upstairs to do god-knows-what. And I was left wondering what the hell to do. I had no intention to work on my healing process. Or my investigation for that matter. It was one o’clock now and I was bored. I sighed. Back home, I would be attending my dance class now. Or bugging Sir Adam Andrepont (a friend of daddy’s who is also in charge of the Paris Police Force) to play a game of chess with me during his lunch break. I smiled wistfully. Dining with XY, shopping with Sabrina, dancing with Adrien, playfully making trouble for everyone in the Hotel with Jean and the other troublemaker on my tail, and going to restrooms with actual toilets. I missed it all. A single drop of grief welled up from the corner of my eye. 

I heard the old lady coming downstairs and quickly wiped any trace of the foreign tear. I was not about to give the old lady the satisfaction of witnessing my breakdown again. The old lady finally came down, it took her so long, probably because her weak old body couldn’t handle the strain. I sniggered to myself. Then I saw that she was holding some stuff: two pecan-colored wooden easels, a couple of canvases of different sizes, and several paintbrushes. 

Wait a second. Did I brush my teeth with the same wood used to make these easels?! I got mad. I am so picky, the workers in the hotel almost lose their lives trying to make sure that I was pleased and this lady? She treats me so horribly! Since she is my savior, I put up with her ridiculous house, ridiculous mannerisms, her ridiculous toilet, and ridiculously annoying and beautiful face without making a fuss while treating her well and she?!?! She gives me a toothbrush of such low quality that they use the same wood to make stupid easels ( _low quality!! Can you believe that this word is being used in the same sentence as I??_ ). I glared at the old lady. Her smile froze and she slowly, cautiously walked toward me as if I were some kind of beast that she needs to tame. I grit my teeth, getting even angrier. I wanted to yell at her, demand for some kind of explanation. But I can only gesture to her and that shit required patience so I just raised my chin, looked her in the eye, crossed my arms, and then turned my head away with a harrumph. Trust me, it worked. I know how to intimidate people.

The old lady sat on one of the bright yellow chairs, the one that faced away from the kitchen, and started to set up all the things she brought. She moved the center table closer to her right hand and my left. She arranged all the paintbrushes and the cups with paint on the table picked one canvas and put the rest on the other easel which rested in front of me. Then she went to the kitchen and brought 4 long glasses with water. After that, she sat there and started painting. 

I think she wanted me to paint with her. But I won’t do what she wants. It’s bad enough that I'm completely at her mercy. I don’t need her to think that she can control me. And...because I’m not very good at painting. I ignored her. I thought about how I could make this small room look amazing if given the chance and resources. But after a while, I became curious about what the old lady was painting. I peeked. I couldn’t see the whole canvas but from the small part that I could see, she was painting a small child on a swing, so I deduced that she was probably painting a park or something. And honestly, watching her paint was hypnotizing. I grudgingly admitted to myself that she may be a bit talented. I subconsciously moved a bit closer to look at the canvas better.

Clearly, I wasn’t mad anymore. When the old lady realized that, she gently smiled at me. Somewhat caught off guard, I looked away and crossed my arms. Why was she smiling like that? Why was she smiling at all? I had behaved so rudely earlier. The old lady should be mad at me, treating me badly; especially since she didn't know my real identity. She cleared her throat. Startled, I looked up. The old lady was still smiling so warmly and her eyes shined with understanding. She pointed to herself, and then said “ _Nariah”_ and pointed at me. Uhh. Was that her name? Did she want mine? Whatever. I’ll just roll with it. Pursing my lips, I replied:

“ _Chloe Bourgeois._ ”

~~O~~

I’m about to suffocate in this godforsaken place. I can’t move from this bed since I just _had_ to break both my legs and end up in a place where there aren’t any wheelchairs. I feel homesick, I miss my phone, my bed, and daddy. The old lady usually gives me something to do but...it's still not the same.

 _Nariah_ is the old lady’s name. I wonder what it means. I believe mine means “blooming” or something. I honestly think that people should be allowed to pick their own names.

Nariah the old lady, as I’ve come to realize, is a bit unpredictable. Sometimes she is placid, calm, and peaceful like the clean, freshwater in my basin. Occasionally, she becomes very gentle. Gentle like a mother holding her newborn baby. She checks my injuries, tenderly applying a type of salve to my bruises. Feeds me with a kind smile. Pats my head, touches my cheek, and grasps my chin with doting eyes. Other times she is bold. Daring. Challenging me to try a yucky looking soup. Baiting me to fight her to get out of the bathroom.

I usually just go along with whatever she wants, not knowing what to do or how to react to her behavior. I would never say it out loud, but I kinda like the old lady. Specifically, how she treats me. She is gentle with me but does not see me as a person who is fragile and depends on others. A part of me wants her to see me like that, just so she can assume that I need to be taken care of and I can continue to be lazy. But a bigger part of me likes that she does not see me as a little child, incapable of anything. 

I’ve always known that me being born into a very influential family was bound to make others treat me well. I flaunt my family name and I’m not ashamed of it. But it’s different with the old lady. More complicated. She did not know my family name but with her, I’m not sure that her behavior would change even if she did.

I stared at her as I brought my cup of jasmine tea up to my mouth for another sip. Sensing my gaze, Nariah the old lady spun around, the flaps of her beautiful dress swirling, and came to face me. She had been cleaning a gold-colored nose with a soft cloth. (Why does she even have an antique gold nose?) With her eyes unreadable- _-_ no _guarding,_ she smiled at me, a forced one I knew, how I’m able to distinguish her different smiles I knew not. I slowly brought the cup up for another sip to aggravate her further. Keeping my face provokingly calm, I raised an audacious eyebrow, baiting her into confronting me about my staring. 

Sensing that this was some kind of test from me, Nariah the old lady put on a more convincing expression. But even with her clear eyes perfectly imitating my diamond earrings’ glow, her reaction made me feel like Nariah the old lady was hiding something. Was she hiding something? Make no mistake, I have no interest in Nariah’s personal life. I honestly couldn’t care less about that. I won’t bother with anything that wouldn’t help me get more information on how to get out of here. And I have a fair understanding of Nariah’s reactions by now. She was gentle but not very lenient. If I cross a line, she would have no trouble informing me. I understood this when I asked her where she got the money for all the items in the room. She glared at me and went back to her business. 

I had gotten used to the fact that I’ll be staying here for a while and that there are only two ways for me to get out of here: wait for my legs to recover and then make my way out with the information that I’ve acquired in the meantime, or just meaninglessly wait for some stupid boy in shining armor to come and save me with a kiss. And as much as I would love to sit around and kiss a handsome prince, I don’t have that luxury.

And so I decided to focus on the positive part of this situation: if I time it right, there will only be a couple more months of school left in Paris when I return and I can skip them with the excuse that I was traumatized. 

Buried in my thoughts I brought the cup up to my lips again, forgetting that I already finished my tea. Displeased, I glance up at the old lady to ask her for more tea only to find that Nariah was already looking at me. Nariah’s eyes widened when she realized that she was caught looking and quickly went back to her work. That’s it. She’s hiding something. What is she hiding? It has got to do something with me because why would she look away?

A loud thud interrupted me from my thoughts. I looked up to find that the old lady just slammed a board game on the center table. Sigh. I motioned the game with a questioning gaze. 

_What game is it?_

“ _Mehan.”_

Sigh. _Okay._

Shortly after coming here, I learned that Nariah the old lady has to be doing something all the damn time. She just can’t sit still. Clean the kitchen. Clean the living room. Clean the bathroom. Clean upstairs. Clean herself. Clean me. Clean god-knows-what-else. She left me alone for the first few days. Then she started dumping her stupid habit onto me as well.

At some point along the way, we both realized that we can’t communicate everything through just hand gestures. We can’t even write to each other. So the only proper way we could convey what we wanted was through drawing. And this kinda freaked me out. I am not good at drawing. In the beginning, I thought that limiting our interactions was the best solution but soon I came to realize that limiting our interaction would just make me go crazy. I understood this after a few days. It got pretty lonely. I couldn't speak to anyone, I couldn’t entertain myself properly, I couldn’t get up from the bed to explore or find out about anything, and the only thing the old lady offered was painting and I sucked at that. I was in a bad mood all the damn time. And my situation made me compare my life before and my life now very often. Too often. I cried a lot, especially at night. I was mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually drained all of the first week. I wanted to do something. Anything. I didn’t want to paint with her all damn day. I wanted to go home. I wanted to rest. I wanted to get out of the stupid house. I wanted to use a phone. I wanted to stand up on my legs, use an actual toilet, call Sabrina or Jean or Adrien or Daddy. I was so desperate, I would have even done the pathetic homework from school.

Out of sheer boredom, I finally started joining her painting sessions. Luckily, Nariah is a very slow painter. She likes to take her time, staring into the distance for a bit, slowly mixing the paints, and has this small notebook in which she jots down some points in her native language from time to time. All this gave me enough time to actually make tiny, barely-passing-for-decent paintings and preserve my pride. I guess painting was better than nothing?

I did a double-take on that thought. Was I just focusing on the good parts instead of the bad? Hilarity struck me. I was being...optimistic. The hotel staff would rather cut off their tongues than say that I was anything short of a heartless critic. And their opinions are completely justified and not exaggerated. If I was displeased with their work, I would ruin their financial lives without a second thought. I know that some people don’t agree with that method (my classmates and many of the employees). But I know that my behavior is not overstepping any bounds. The staff works for the Bourgeois family and every one of them is paid a hefty check. They get to meet all the esteemed guests who stay in the hotel and the very best is expected of them. I have all the rights to be displeased with them if their work sucks and have the authority to decide how to punish them. After all, if they can’t even cater to the needs of the daughter of their master, how can they properly serve all the other guests?

“Mala* Chloe” Nariah the old lady called me.

“Hm? Oh.” I realized that Nariah was waiting for me. I gestured to her to start with an apologetic look. She smiled and started drawing images to review the rules.

 _Mehen_ is an Egyptian game (there were hieroglyphs on the back) based on the snake god, Mehen, who coils around the sun god to protect him during his subterranean journey each night. The circular game board is the representation of Mehen’s body coiled up around the sun. Each player receives 6 pawns and their objective is to reach the center of the board without getting eaten by lions (pieces that are randomly placed on the board) and avoiding the other player’s attacks. Besides all of that, four sticks act like dice.

We both started playing board games towards the end of the first week. I think she finally caught wind of my mental state and mercifully decided to do things other than painting. Her solution was playing board games. I am not familiar with many of her games because I never really played board games back in Paris. And I have a feeling that even if I did play these kinds of games before, I still wouldn’t know any of Nariah the old lady’s board games. Her games were… old. They were all antique pieces and the latest that she has is a Chinese game called Go. And I only know this one because I saw daddy playing this game with his favorite council member one time.

Nariah and I played _Mehen_ for a while, then she went to the kitchen to start preparing dinner and I took a small square canvas to paint my beautiful cup of jasmine tea. When I wasn’t actively trying to pretend that I was somewhat decent at art, I found painting to have a calming effect on me. I noticed that Nariah doesn’t use the same type of paintbrushes as Nathaniel. Nathaniel’s paintbrushes are all different, they are angled, oval-shaped, fan-shaped, etc. Whereas Nariah’s paintbrushes don’t have all those designs, all their strands are long and thick. Their width differs and some are pointier than others. 

Hmm. I wonder how she got all this stuff. Where she got her supplies. I guess she could have had all these things when she decided to isolate herself. But what about food? Does she grow plants and stuff? And how does she get water from the tap? Like don’t we need pipes and a proper irrigation system for that? And her clothes! Does she make them on her own? What about the furniture? She couldn’t have possibly moved them herself. She should’ve lived in the outside world at least for a little bit before deciding to move here right? Or was she born here or something? Maybe her parents lived here and Nariah continued to stay here after they died.

What the hell. This is all so confusing. She has to have _some_ sort of contact with the outside world right? And the part that sucks the most is that I can’t exactly ask her any of this. How do I even draw these questions? Urrghh!

I try to go back to painting. I can’t ask Nariah these questions. And even if I do manage to ask these questions, based on her reaction earlier today, Nariah might not be willing to answer them. I just need to figure out a better way of communication. A method that would give me the advantage, and would make sure that Nariah answers honestly. But I can’t do that now because my mood is all spoiled from thinking about this ridiculous situation and now I want to hurl the canvas across the room because I messed up. My life sucks.

I ate dinner with an annoyed expression on my face. I was in the mood to diss at everything and anything. But the food was delicious, as always. However, I still found something to complain about: there was no meat. I think the old lady was a vegetarian or something. I want to eat sushi. Fuck. Why is it that the meal is so exquisite but it still manages to make me feel so angry and sad and homesick!

If Nariah noticed my deteriorated mood, she didn’t comment on it. She squeezed my shoulder once before going upstairs to sleep. I regarded the messed up painting in front of me. My anger and helplessness resulted in a red blotch where a beautiful jasmine flower was supposed to reside. I picked up a skinny paintbrush and wrote my full name on the canvas. After a moment of hesitation, I signed it. _Chloe Bourgeois._

~~O~~

“ _Dear Chole...our family, the Bourgeois family, is known for many things. Beauty and wealth. Strength and unity. We are deadly and possessive. Your mother does not understand that. That’s why she left. But you understand that don’t you? So can you promise me that you will never leave me, dear child?”_

_“Yes,” replied a teary four-year-old Chloe. “Chloe promises to never leave you.”_

_The heartbroken father and daughter clung to each other for the rest of the night, hoping to fill the sudden hole in their heart._

~~O~~

Nariah the old lady descended the stairs yawning and stretching. It’s amusing to watch Nariah in the morning. She already yawned like a million times and stretched like it would take away her age along with her sleepiness. I usually wake after her but I had trouble falling asleep yesterday and the sunlight from the kitchen window woke me. Nariah probably forgot to close the curtains yesterday.

“Hey Nariah,” I called out. How will she react to me calling her?

Nariah paused for a second before fully turning to face me and giving me a small smile. Once she noticed that my eyes were wide open and not drooping with sleep, her posture stiffened slightly and her eyes squinted at me as if she suspected me of doing something wrong.

Hmm. Am I reading too much into this? Maybe I'm going crazy trying to figure out what the old lady is hiding. Nevertheless, that wasn’t particularly interesting. She wasn’t as surprised as I’d hoped. Whatever.

Nariah gave me another look and went to the bathroom. She took a bath and did her other business. Then she took me to the bathroom and I also took a bath. After assisting me with the bathroom, Nariah opened the huge kitchen window to let some air in. Then she made a hot chocolate type of drink for us that tasted more like hazelnut and almond than chocolate. I’ve got to admit, this old lady was a great cook. So far, I’ve liked every single thing she made. If only she was my personal chef back home.

After finishing our drinks quietly, Nariah put the cups on the empty center table and came over to me again. I sighed and then moved the blankets aside to make room for her to sit. With a bright smile, Nariah plopped down on the mattress in front of me. Her hands reached out, seeking to hold mine. I stayed still and kept my hands under the blanket. Seeing this, Nariah frowned, making me feel the slightest bit of guilt for the rude gesture (or lack thereof). Just before I gave up and retrieved my hands from the blanket, Nariah yanked the blanket away and threw it on the floor with a look of irritation. I froze.

Apparently, I had underestimated her unpredictability. Since when did she act so impulsively and get irritated for no reason? I grit my teeth. What’s her problem? Was I not allowed some personal space? What right did she have to do that? She may be my savior but there is a limit to what I’ll let her get away with!

I think my annoyance showed on my face because Nariah the old lady immediately went to collect my blanket. She wrapped the blanket around my back in a comforting manner before placing her hands on my shoulders. I was still a bit mad at her so I turned my chin away from her with a harrumph. 

“Querida** mala Chloe…”

Nariah gently grasped my chin and turned my head to face her again. At this point, I was trying with all my resolve to keep glaring at her and not immediately forgive her. Nariah’s other hand started to gently caress my hair.

“Mianhae*** querida Chloe…” The look in her eyes was so expressive that I didn’t need to understand her words to understand what she was trying to say. Nariah tightened the blanket around my body. She held my right cheek gently and looked at me with pleading eyes. Pleased by her apology, I nodded once to convey my forgiveness. 

With a bright smile, the old lady took my hands in hers again. This time I didn’t protest and obediently let her do whatever she wanted. Letting her do whatever she wanted usually ended up really entertaining. Hiding a small smile, I started the process.

We sat cross-legged with our knees touching and our eyes closed. Our hands rested on our knees and we held each other’s wrists, mine on the bottom and her’s on the top. We both took a deep breath and started tapping our index fingers to the same cadence. 

It was some weird type of meditation thingy where the only thing you should pay attention to is your partner’s body and the tapping. You basically try to block out everything and anything else that is not your partner. And the only thing you should be concentrating on is tapping in sync with your partner.

It’s always a bit hard in the beginning, trying to control your thoughts and your senses and agreeing on a certain tempo with your partner. But once you get the hang of it, you and your partner’s breathing slows down and synchronizes. Keeping the same tempo becomes second nature even when your partner strays from the set pace because your body is completely attuned to your partner’s. It’s an otherworldly feeling, the mutual calmness, and happiness. And if you both _really_ do it correctly, then you feel a sort of heat forming where your hands are holding onto your partner’s and the brilliant flame slowly creeping across your arms and body. 

I jerked my eyes open. Nariah was looking at me with a slightly irritated expression. Furrowing her eyebrows, she jerked her head towards our hands. _Oh. I wasn’t concentrating._ I gave her an embarrassed smile, “...Mianhae?”

~~O~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! that was a loooong chapter...  
> So... some emotional healing and coping methods are in this chapter. but that's to be expected.  
> I've also introduced the basic dynamic between Nariah the old lady and Chloe. (Beware, Nariah is the first and the most important stepping stone of chloe's change)  
> You've seen the slight strangeness surrounding the mysterious Nariah (the meditation thing was pretty fun to write)  
> I also took you more into chloe's personality and her past. Hopefully, in the following chapters I can focus on the progressing the plot and not be biased towards her mental healing.
> 
> I know many of you want to know how Chloe ended up with our dear Nariah and part of that question will be answered next chapter. 
> 
> luv ya! <33


	4. Green-Eyed Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys !  
> I'm so excited for your reaction to this chapter!!! (PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR FEEDBACK)
> 
> SLIGHT ANGST AND VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> SPOILER: you will find out what happened to chloe back in Paris the day she came here!

~~O~~

I had just finished doing my skin care routine and was pondering about which song should accompany me in bed when the door burst open.

I frowned. Doesn’t the stupid person have the decency to knock? I turned towards the door, ready to reprimand the staff member when I was taken aback once again.

The boy couldn’t be older than 17 years and his chocolate brown hair was tied up into a long ponytail. His striking jade green eyes matched the green streak in his hair. Damn, he’s good looking. How come I’ve never seen him around before?

Quickly composing myself, I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at him. _What do you want?_

His previously expressionless eyes twinkle with amusement and playfulness. “Mayor Bourgeois wants to meet Miss Chloe in her private courtyard.” He replies in a lazy tone.

“Oh? And why does father want me to meet him this late? Surely he knows that this is past my bedtime.” I say to tease him a little bit. Everybody knows that I don’t like it when my questions are unanswered.

The smile on his face froze. “I… believe the Mayor has a gift for you.” He answered after a short second.

Hmm... I have an inkling about why daddy wants to meet me now but I don’t want to get my hopes up for no reason. One of daddy’s bodyguards works for me and he told me that daddy was trying to get some singer to perform at my birthday party.

“Right,” I quipped, “What’s your name again?”

“Uh…Cam!” He said hastily, “Cam Ale.”

Cam Ale. I smile mockingly. What kind of a name is that? Nevertheless, I wrote it down on a piece of paper along with a note saying that he escorted me to my personal terrace. I probably should have included some details about what he looks like but he was wearing the staff uniform and there are cameras all around so it should be fine.

“Lead the way, boy!” I commanded. “Don’t waste my time.”

He grit his teeth, eyes flashing with irritation at my condescending tone. I gave him a self-satisfied smirk in return. He bowed and stalked away. I put on my fluffy pink robe and followed him out.

 _Did daddy invite Shakira? Or better yet, was he able to get Britany Spears to come? She dances so well!_ I am so excited to find out! When we finally reached my terrace, I didn’t see daddy. Wasn’t he supposed to be…? _Shit._

Abruptly, the lights turned off. _Oh fuck._ I opened my mouth to scream when I felt cloth run across my parted lips and tighten behind my head. _Fuck._

In an instant, my reflexes kicked in. I couldn’t see anything in the dark but I tried my best to run toward the general area out of the terrace while trying to unravel the knot with both hands. I was hyperventilating, wondering how the damned boy didn’t find me by my breathing alone. I bump into something and start falling backwards. My blood runs cold at this.

My mind stops for a moment, still trying to process the fact that I was falling. I come back to my senses in a split second but it’s too late. I’m falling backwards and my knees aren’t bending to break my fall because my body is still frozen in shock. I’m a couple inches away from hitting the ground when I forcibly wrench my body to the side, my right arm instinctually shooting out to support my body and try to minimize the impact of the fall on my body. But, the force of my body slamming into the ground was too much for my right arm to handle and my wrist twists into a weird angle, taking the brunt of my fall.

I shriek in pain and my screams are so loud that even the blasted cloth around my mouth couldn’t muffle them. I lay on the ground for a moment, clutching my right wrist tightly and taking in shuddering breaths with tears running down my cheeks. My mind was still reeling with the fact that I would have cracked my skull if I hadn’t reacted in time.

I quickly get up, clutching my injured wrist to my chest and smartly deciding to use my left hand to navigate in front of me so I don’t have another near-death experience. I gave up on untying the damned cloth on my mouth and just bit on it really hard to stifle the pain. I walk around a bit, trying to gauge where I am and where the exit is. Struggling to get my mind off the agonizing pain, I stomp my feet in frustration and then promptly realize that if I ever want a chance to get out of here alive, I need to be as quiet as possible.

Just as I was about to give up and cry my life away, a small light highlighted my way. It was probably from a small torch but it was still enough for me to get a sense of where I was. Crying out in relief, I get up again and run in the direction that should lead towards the exit.

Unfortunately, just as I was about halfway to the door, the light was turned off. Terrified, I continued running towards the door, albeit much slower.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk..” came a lazy drawl, “And what do you think you’re doing, princess?”

I froze, fear gripping my heart. I looked around as if I could actually spot him in the darkness. My heart gave another lurch when I actually found his poison green eyes to the side. I was so scared that I couldn’t look away, my mouth parting in a petrified gasp. After a few seconds, I tore my gaze away from him, trying to figure out what I should do next. Just as I was about to take off again, his green eyes flashed in irritation and I found myself roughly yanked back into his chest as he hugged me close. I blinked and suddenly found myself staring into his annoyed eyes.

“Can’t you stay still?” He spat, “You always make other people do the work for you so why not now?”

My blood boiled at his words. How dare he! I glared at him and tried to push him away when I realized that his hand was already fastened to my arm. _Fuck him!_ I wiggled around, trying to get away from his disgusting hold.

“Leh meh goh ye vast ard!” I snarled.

“What was that, darling?” He smirked.

“Leh meh goh!”

“Oh? And why would I do that? Surely you must know that I love to hug pretty girls.” He said and then proceeded to wiggle his butt to show how much he likes hugging me. My mouth dropped open.

_He was teasing me!_

I stomped on his feet to show him how much _I_ liked him hugging me. Suddenly, he shoved me away and the corner of a table smacked into my stomach. Ouch. That’s going to bruise. Whatever, he pushed me away so the only thing that matters now is to get the hell out of here. I started running towards the exit again when suddenly the fuckard appeared infront of me, picked me up and jumped into the air. I yelped in surprise and tightly wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I closed my eyes, a bit scared. I’m well used to heights, being Queen Bee and often seeing the views from tall buildings but I don’t feel particularly safe being carried by a boy who wants to kidnap me. Just as we landed on a low roof, I got thrown to the side and almost rolled off the edge. The cost of me not falling off the building came in the form of a huge gash on my back. 

My head is spinning, my whole body is hurting and I just want this to end. Imagine my surprise when I turn around to see the stupid boy roundhouse kicking Hawk Moth. I blinked.

_What the heck?_

I rubbed my eyes.

Dark purple dress shirt, and black dress pants with a silver mask covering most of his face and neck. Not to mention the cane.

_It...It really is Hawk Moth!_

_Wha...What?_

I massaged my temples, having a really hard time processing this. Maybe I really did hit my head during one of the numerous times I fell down.

I look up again to see Hawk Moth raising his cane to strike the boy when my kidnapper suddenly parries the attack with...with a sword? Did he always have a green sword? Or...was it a stick? They both continued fighting while I seriously considered jumping off the roof. It would totally catch him off guard and he’s busy fighting so I could technically escape even if I end up with pretty bad injuries. If I die...well, the enemy won’t have the satisfaction of personally killing me?

Alright. It was decided. I’m jumping off the roof. I peeked at them to make sure that they were still busy with each other. Alas, the world never grants me my simple wishes: Hawk Moth was rushing towards me, an akuma in his hand.

_Well, shit._

Hawk Moth released the akuma and the boy went after the butterfly, giving Hawk Moth a chance to scoop me up. But apparently Hawk Moth wasn’t fast enough because the akuma disappeared and the boy kicked Hawk Moth’s knees, successfully bringing both of us crumbling to the ground. The boy quickly latched onto my left arm and tried to pry me off of Hawk Moth but suddenly Hawk Moth grabbed my right arm and tried to pull me back.

My heart leapt into my throat and my body shook with fear. _No. NoNoNoNoNoNo!!!!! This CANNOT be going where I think it is!_

Within a second, Hawk Moth was on his feet and pulling me towards him via my right hand. FUCK!

“Let me go--!” I screamed at them.

The boy yanked on my left arm which caused me to stumble towards him and as a result Hawk Moth’s grip on my hand fell to my wrist. The pain shot up my arm and exploded in my mind with a blinding whiteness.

“STOP! YOU’RE HURTING ME!!” I screeched at them.

And that was when Hawk Moth started pulling on my wrist. Tears erupted from my face and I was wailing for them to stop, stop. Please, please, _please_ don’t hurt my hand. _It hurts so much!_ I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll go with you! Just, please, _please_ don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for whatever I did! I’ll give you so much money! _Stop, please, PLEASE don’t hurt me..._

I was losing my mind as they played their hellish version of tug of war. They were also talking and _why did they have to include me in their fight?_ At some point, my eyes rolled to the back of my head. Hawk Moth was tearing my arm out. It was like needles that had been dipped in alcohol were being stabbed into my arm. The searing pain made me regret ever being born. 

There were black spots dancing in my vision. I was so dizzy. I closed my eyes to try to concentrate on my breathing but all it did was heighten my senses and make the pain even more unbearable. I was slowly losing consciousness, I knew it. Hell, I was waiting to finally be rid of this agony.

Suddenly, the boy stepped to the side and yanked on my left arm twice as forcefully, successfully pulling the bone out of its socket. The little color drained from my face. As I heard the fateful “pop” of my shoulder, I could feel my heart breaking along with it.

I didn’t have any energy to cry anymore. My chest feels so heavy. It hurts too much. I don’t know when the two monsters let go of me. I don’t care anymore. I just want the pain gone.

_God, please help me._

~~O~~

I woke up breathing hard and crying. So...it was a dream? I tried to make myself believe that it was a dream but I knew that it was the truth. I just didn’t want to admit it.

My head was spinning. I layed back down and tried to control my breathing. So if what happened was real….then…then...this is so confusing!

Okay. So the last thing I remember was finally losing consciousness from the pain. And I was on top of the roof of my bathhouse in our old house then. So how did I get here? The boy could have brought me here, Hawk Moth could’ve brought me here and could Nariah have brought me here? Maybe she came there just in time and saved me. But that doesn’t make any sense. Because if Nariah really did save me, then why did I wake up in the middle of the field? Why couldn’t Nariah have just brought me to her house or just give me to one of the servants? But then again, if Nariah brought me, then she would have had to fight Hawk Moth and/or the boy. And looking at how old she is, is that possible? No.

So, either Hawk Moth or the other boy brought me here. The boy was the one tricked me into going to my terrace so maybe he is the one that wants me? Okay, that makes sense. But then why didn’t he take me? He tormented me so much! He left me alone, making me think that I could escape but in reality, whenever I could escape, he came back and stopped me. What was he doing during that time? What made him wait? This is...frustrating. Okay, I’ll come back to this later. I’ll move on to Hawk Moth for now.

Okay, if Hawk Moth was the one who wanted me, why did he come so late? He came after the boy, and started fighting him. Also, what does he even need me for? All I do for him...is that...well, a lot of people associated with me get akumatized. That is the only way that I could’ve come in handy for him. Does he know me in real life? Bah! That’s impossible. But...is it really? And anyway, if he wanted to use me for something, why bring me to this stupid place? This is too confusing!

Alright. I should calm down. Freaking out isn’t gonna help in any way. I just realized: The boy...how could he have carried me to the roof? You can’t just jump and go up to your roof! The only people I know who could have done it are...Ladybug and Chat Noir?! Maybe Chat Noir was that boy in real life and came to take revenge on me for being Ladybug’s BFF? But...that still doesn’t prove how he could have access to his powers in his normal form. So, that rules out this possibility.

The boy is definitely weird. He is super fast, he can apparently fly, and can also...hold a good battle against Hawk Moth. How did he do that? He has a sword...? Or was it actually some stick or something? He wasn’t wearing a mask so he couldn’t have been a superhero. And…I vaguely remember the both of them talking. How did they know each other? Was the boy working with Hawk Moth? Then why was he fighting against him?

Gah! This is so frustrating! I absentmindedly caressed my wrist. It hurt so bad. They both hurt me so much. What did I do to deserve that?

The boy said that daddy was waiting for me. I shouldn’t have gone with him. I should’ve known that daddy wouldn’t visit me at such an odd time. I should’ve known that getting Shakira or Britany Spears (or _any_ artist, really) to come would require more time than that. I knew that he was having a rough time with the other council members right now. He had a lot of work and needed every single drop of time and rest he could get. But. He was still trying to give me everything I had demanded of him.

Cold tears poured out of my eyes like a fucking waterfall. _I miss him._

I’d never thought that I would miss anybody as much as I miss him now. Daddy took me to all the places I’ve ever wanted to visit. He bought me anything that I liked. He gave me everything I wished for. Daddy did anything and everything if he thought it would please me.

I knew that he felt guilty that I was going to be raised without a mother-figure in my life. I knew, more than anyone else, that when the wretched woman left, she made my beloved father a cold person. He may be the mayor and he may love Paris but that is what everyone else believes. I, on the other hand, am the only one who knows that father became incapable of loving anything other than me, himself, and his job. And I'm also the only one that knows that daddy only gives me whatever I want because he was trying to make up for the comfort and happiness only a mother can give her child. All he really wanted was to make me happy and return his affections.

And now I realize that I’ve taken him for granted. His hugs, kisses, gifts, everything. Father did everything to make me happy but I was too bitter, never appreciating him or thanking him. Seeing all the other children playing with both their parents when my mother abandoned me and my father was too busy with his job was too much for me. Therefore, I always blamed him and mother for causing me this grief.

Back then, I failed to understand that it wasn’t his fault that mother left. I didn’t understand that working all time was the way he was coping because in my point of view, my daddy didn’t like me either but he couldn’t just leave like mother did so he was working all the time just to get away from me. Throughout the years, time helped father get over her and when he finally started paying attention to me, time had also helped me become too guarded, cold, and selfish to return his affections. And I know that even though I have my reasons, it was unfair of me to be so cruel to him.

I remember all the times I had hurt him, complaining about everything and nothing in particular, disregarding his wishes, and heartlessly trampling on his heart by bringing up mom whenever I didn’t get what I wanted. I took advantage of my father’s job, his feelings, and even his fucking broken heart.

I shouldn’t have been so cruel to him. I should’ve forgiven him. He did more than enough to earn it. How could I have been so blind to not see it before? He… He may have made me feel so small, lonely and worthless and practically made me _beg_ for attention but it wasn’t intentional, was it? Surely he couldn’t have purposely hurt me like that?

I sniffed a couple times to stop my tears but that just seemed to make them even more insistent. Soon I was a whimpering mess, darkness surrounding me but still feeling so exposed, insecure, and vulnerable. I hunched into myself, feeling ashamed for returning to this pose after vowing not to.

Throughout my whole life, I only made a handful of promises. And one of them was to never leave daddy’s side. He left me alone but didn’t I do the same to him? I promised to never leave him but I did just that, I left him now and also when he needed someone the most. I could’ve reached out to him just as I wanted him to reach out for me! I could’ve helped him through the heartbreak. But when he finally got over her, and reached out to me like I had wanted, I pushed him away, telling myself that since he didn’t care about me, I won’t care about him either.

I hurt him so much...And I didn’t do the one thing he asked of me. I didn’t keep my promise.

 _“Chloe...I love you, dear child.”_ Images of father flitted through my mind. 

_“Love, you look so beautiful with those earrings.”_ His doting smile as he watched me try on a beautiful pair of diamond earrings.

His helpless sigh but utterly fond eyes as I painted his nails and did his makeup.

_“You….you look better than most days.”_

His face splitting into a bright grin and his eyes lighting up in elation when I told him anything that even slightly resembled a compliment.

 _“Happy Birthday, my angel!”_ Daddy exclaimed as he happily swung me through the corridors of the hotel on my 15th birthday.

His relieved face when I was found after 6-year old me ran off in the middle of the city in an attempt to convince him to buy all those pretty things that women put on their faces.

His gentle smile when he affectionately kissed my forehead after my first ever dance recital. _“I’m so proud of you, love.”_

My chest felt so heavy and my anguished whimpers turned into wails as my body ransacked with my sobs.

“I...I want to go back to him.” I cried, “I want to go back and make it up to him!”

I didn’t care if I woke up the old lady. I just wanted to go back.

“He’d be so happy! He’d be so happy that I was back!” My eyes were agleam with the intensity of my fervour. I wiped my cheeks, telling myself to stop crying and _just go back to daddy already!_ I swiftly removed the blankets from my body and got down from the bed.

“It doesn’t matter if my legs are broken, I will still go back.” I muttered and started dragging my body to the door.

When I got about halfway to the door, something held me back. I struggled, trying to escape the grip of the person restraining me. 

“No, no, no…” I groaned, seriously terrified of being held back. I was breathing quickly now. I just want to be let go. Was it really too much to ask?

I felt that person tugging me back again.

“No!” I brought my elbow forward and jammed it behind to hurt the fucking person and get away because _they just won’t let me go!_ Flashes of that night made my skin crawl. They didn’t let go of me either.

The stupid person grunted.

“ _Get lost, you fucking wench!”_ I was flailing now.

I felt the old lady’s hands retreat from my body. Barely suppressing a sigh of relief, I continued to crawl forward quickly, afraid that the old lady would change her mind. When I heard some shuffling to the side, I realized my mistake. The old lady was standing up right beside me. Her arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me up towards her. I screamed again and dug my fingers into the ground, trying to stop her.

“Stop! Just leave me alone!” I yelled, suffocating with tears and even kicked her with my injured legs. I will NOT let this be a repeat of what happened. I will NOT let my stupid injuries stop me from getting what I want.

Ignoring my protests, Nariah proceeded to wrap another arm around my thighs and lifted me up, immobilizing me completely since I was facing the ground and couldn't use my hands to attack her. Trapped in her too strong grip, I howled and tried to kick her again, which I didn’t succeed in. I tried to scratch her, at some point finding an opportunity.

Nariah held me like that for a long time. The whole time, I was hitting her, biting her, or scratching her. When I had no energy left to fight her, she slowly started swaying side to side. She carried me to the kitchen and I looked for a knife to stab her with. But before I could get a hold of one, Nariah gave me a glass of water. I looked at glass suspiciously for a moment before gulping it down.

She took me back to my bed and got some candles from a shelf and lit them. I was exhausted so I didn’t even try to run away. Nariah shifted one of the yellow chairs towards me and started humming to some tune. I didn’t like any of it. I was still very angry, upset, and bitter about everything that happened. And I couldn’t bear that she was so happy that she was _humming._

“Shut up!” I snapped at her.

When she realized what I said, Nariah’s face morphed into hurt. I immediately felt guilty- after all, Nariah didn’t do anything but help me through it all. She didn’t have to heal my injuries, she didn’t have to keep me here, she didn’t have to cook my favorite foods, or teach me different painting techniques, or play games with me to quell my boredom. But she did it anyway.

And how did I repay her? Screaming at her. Biting her, scratching her, hitting her. Snapping at her to shut up in her own house. What happened to me? When did I become so irrational? What would I do if she gets angry and kicks me out?

“...Mianhae. Mianhae, Nariah.” I apologized. I truly felt sorry for reacting that way. I waved my hand at her awkwardly to continue humming to herself.

She smiled at me sweetly and moved closed to me. She started crooning softly and I didn’t protest, just letting her do whatever she wanted. I didn’t understand what she was saying but Nariah had a very soothing voice and it was a wonderful tune and I just felt so _tired._ I closed my eyes and just let Nariah’s voice do its magic to my ears, feeling helpless but not hopeless about my situation. I need to sort out many things and I’ll get through them all but right now I’m tired and now Nariah is gently carding her fingers through my hair and it just feels _so good._

I sleepily hum along with Nariah, feeling her fingers gently massaging my shoulders and try to remember the last time somebody put me to bed so lovingly.

~~O~~

It was towards the beginning of the third week when Nariah started asking me weird questions.

It was about 8 pm and that day I was trying to accurately paint the Hôtel de Ville. It’s kinda sad because I’m thoroughly hooked on finishing this painting before going to bed but the sun is almost down and I can’t paint after sunset because we don’t have lights.

“Mala Chloe.” Nariah called from the kitchen.

“Hmm?” I replied distractedly. Is this shade of grey too dark?

Nariah sits beside me and pushes the canvas away. I give her a questioning look. _What is it?_

She took a piece of paper and started drawing, occasionally glancing up at me to make sure I understood what she was saying. And I was paying close attention. What she was drawing was… interesting.

Apparently there is a kingdom. And this kingdom is on the brink of war with one of the neighboring kingdoms. The king has recently passed away from some unknown sickness and the kingdom is in chaos. And I am apparently the main royal advisor. The king has two sons- the older one is 22 years old and the younger one is 15. The queen died after giving birth to the second son. Obviously, the first son ascends the throne and leads the kingdom into war. But I’ve somehow found out about all the bad things the first son did. And if the first son becomes the king, he would perform all kinds of corrupted deeds and turn the kingdom into shreds.

And so, Nariah wants me to put a stop to the first son’s bad behavior and punish him properly, figure out a method to win the war and ensure the kingdom prospers all the while making sure that I don’t lose my position in the royal court.

_...Seriously?_

I gave Nariah a highly offended and indignant look. Does she think I’m stupid? This question is so easy, it's pathetic.

I swiftly started drawing out the answer: Gather all the evidence of the first son’s crimes via spies and other investigations. But don’t present them yet, because the first prince is very influential, especially with all the court officials who support his disastrous ventures. Let the first prince ascend the throne and monitor closely to see if he wants to get rid of his brother. If he does, take the young second prince away to a better, safer place with some simple excuse. Train the second prince very hard and make sure he receives top-notch education.

Slowly have some of your trusted servants anonymously leak some info with some evidence to the officials who don’t participate in the first son’s corrupted deeds. This way, they will all get interested and carry out investigations themselves. Then, slowly, one by one, find evidence of the crimes of the officials who support the prince and have them arrested. Do all of this while being on the prince’s good side but not partaking in any crimes myself. Since the good officials don’t like the new king that much anymore, the first prince won’t be so stupid and will stop being so reckless.

Then I will stay by the prince’s side and help him win the war, but after that, I will gather up all the good officials and we all will tell each other what we found out and then dethrone the king after bringing the second prince back to the kingdom. And then make the second prince the king and hooray, I’m done. 

Nariah seemed very impressed by me and I couldn’t help feeling a bit smug.

After that incident, Nariah didn’t want to talk much so I went back to my painting, wondering why she suddenly asked me to do some problem solving.

~~O~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So?! Who exactly is the green-eyed monster? and what did he want?  
> At least now we know how she got her injuries :/
> 
> And poor Chloe, finally realizing her father's hard work. (this is the reason, this chapter is so important: it's a major stepping stone in Chloe's character development)
> 
> And to end off the chapter, some Nariah & Chloe bonding time. ( with nariah asking strange questions in the end)
> 
> Don't forget to tell me what you think!
> 
> love y'all :)


	5. Open Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys !  
> I know i was gone for a little bit but this chapter is 7630 words. i think it's worth the wait.  
> in this chapter, you will find out the depth of Chloe and Nariah's relationship. At the end, you will get your first taste of badass Chloe ( i recommend listening to Black On Black by nct or It's Going Down For Real (GDFR).
> 
> enjoy!

~~O~~

I spent the next week or so thinking about the boy, Hawk Moth, and everything that happened, trying to figure out what to do next. After weighing all the possibilities and implications of the event, I came to the conclusion that I need to go back and inspect the house for more clues about what the boy wanted, inform Ladybug about Hawk Moth’s involvement, and have daddy issue a search order for that boy and all the people involved with him.

I was very pissed off in the beginning but now I’ve come to terms with everything. That boy, whoever he is, was stupid enough to mess with me, Chloe Bourgeois. When I go back, I will personally make sure he receives the appropriate punishment for it and make an example out of him to my father’s enemies. Just imagining his usually smirking face wide with fear is making me giddy. I close my eyes, already knowing how much joy I will feel from finding him. This time, _he_ would be the one running away and _I_ will be the one mercilessly teasing him. And when I finally catch him, I will make sure he goes through the same pain he put me through, if not more.

I’ve had many nightmares recently. Some of them took me back to when Hawk Moth and the boy dislocated my wrist and shoulder. Some showed me flashes of my father’s heartbroken face. And several left me in the field outside of Nariah’s home, alone, miserable, and hungry. I especially hate those dreams; I would always end up going insane at the end.

But I have to admit, those nightmares helped me find something shady about Nariah:

She wakes up long before dawn; as loud as my mother’s affectionate calls, and trudges down the stairs and out the main door. She then does god-knows-what, and just before the break of dawn, she scrambles back into the tiny house and up the stairs again. After about half an hour or so, she proceeds to walk downstairs, yawning loudly and mumbling something akin to a good morning.

As if she’d actually expected me to believe that she had somehow fallen asleep and woke up in 30 minutes after doing some creepy midnight ritual shit. What does she even do? 

Now that I know what she’s been doing, the signs are so obvious. In the morning, Nariah’s eyes are carefully covered with sleepiness. But quickly, too quickly, her eyes would grow attentive. 

And believe me, Nariah is _not_ a morning person. And plus, I have evidence! That day I signed my name on the ruined painting of my jasmine teacup? I left it on the center table but the next morning it was gone! And I know for sure that Nariah went to bed before me and I woke up before her. Nariah was definitely doing something shady.

It was the fourth Tuesday of my stay here when I confirmed that Nariah was doing something fishy. That night, I had woken up from a nightmare about Hawk Moth and the boy hurting daddy and heard some shuffling from upstairs. I kept my eyes closed when I faintly heard Nariah coming downstairs and exiting the house.

I didn’t confront her about what she was doing because I didn’t want to tell her that I still had nightmares. If she knew about them, Nariah would definitely sing lullabies to me like I was some baby. And I didn’t want to be treated like a baby, no matter how good it felt.

I sighed. It was such a boring day. I turned to Nariah, wanting to play a game with her when I saw what she was writing on. It was... a calendar.

“Mala Chloe.” Nariah tilted her head.

Oh. I guess I zoned out again. Shaking my head, I pointed at my birth date on the calendar. Then I quickly scrawled a newborn baby on a piece of paper and showed it to her. I...I am going to turn 16 in two days.

“Oh!” She sounded happy. Well at least one of us was happy about it.

Seeing my dejected expression, she quickly changed the subject and asked me what my life was like before meeting her. I was surprised that she wanted to know.

Chuckling, I decided to tell her about my (once) fabulous life. I drew about how daddy was the mayor of Paris, the city of love and fashion and beauty. I showed her my painting of Hôtel de Ville and told her that the magnificent building was my residence (She was so impressed.) I drew about Adrien (she teased me about not having many friends.) I told her about Sabrina and how she always did my homework for me. (She was not impressed by _that_. I tried to convince her by saying that I gave Sabrina many gifts in return but Nariah still didn’t budge.) I also told her about my reputation in the Hotel and Jean. 

I pouted. She didn’t seem to approve of my reputation in the Hotel.

Not wanting that frown on her face, I quickly changed tactics; I told her about the adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noir, Paris’ most beloved superheroes. I also told her about Hawk Moth and how he was misusing the butterfly miraculous and sending akumas all the time. She was quite surprised about that. I swore on myself that it was all true to get her to believe me.

Times like these, they made me so happy. Nariah was awesome. If only she was my biological grandmother. I’d gladly have her as my grandma any day instead of the selfish bitch I’m forced to talk to respectfully.

Smiling, Nariah asks me about my mother.

My expression hardened at that. I didn’t want to tell her about that nasty woman.

Perceptive as usual, Nariah tilts her head and studies me with her beautiful, intense eyes; trying to find out what’s wrong.

But then I remember Nariah’s soft and curious expression. I sighed. If I was ever going to tell anyone about my mother, then Nariah would be the best pick. And her being isolated from civilization is not the only reason why.

I swallowed.

_Well, here goes._

I drew about how my mother left me and father in the worst possible way, using comics to emphasize how daddy and I weren’t as close anymore, and about how much I hated her for leaving. I bared my soul to Nariah, telling her my deepest, darkest secrets and showing her through art and the tears welling up in my eyes how much it hurt to learn that my mother, the woman who brought me to life, was so cruel that she couldn’t even remember her daughter’s name. So cruel that she paid more attention to the future and well being of her daughter’s rival than her daughter herself. And like that, Nariah the old lady came to learn of my numerous attempts to make my mother proud, make her notice me and how they would always fail and hurt me in the end.

I took a deep breath.

Nariah’s head was tilted down. Does she...pity me? I felt anger flare up my body at that thought. Telling Nariah... might not have been the best decision. I’m a strong person. I don’t need anybody to feel bad for me. I swear if she looks at me with pity in her eyes…!

But to my surprise, when Nariah lifted her head up, she didn’t look at me with sympathy. Nope, not even sadness. Her eyes were filled with brilliant anger. She was looking at me but wasn't seeing me. Her jaw was taut, eyebrows slightly drawn and her whole disposition radiated displeasure. _She...she was angry for me?_

I felt happiness surge into me. _She was angry for me!!! No one has ever been angry for me!_

It was true. My father was never hostile towards anybody on my behalf. All those times I got him to do whatever the hell I wanted? It was only because he didn’t want to deal with the drama that would come if my wish wasn’t granted. Not because he was on my side, seeing my side of the argument, and still fighting for me. It was the same with everybody else. Their anger was always directed at me or at the unfairness of the situation.

I placed my hand on Nariah’s cheek, willing her to see me. I practically beamed when the beautiful black orbs lit with green fire met my eyes. Drowning in the fury and rebellion of Nariah’s eyes, my lips spread into an exhilarated smile.

Still reeling from her emotions, I leapt onto Nariah and held her tightly. Slightly confused, Nariah slowly wrapped her arms around me in a familiar embrace.

~~O~~

I turned side to side, still amazed by the reflection on the huge, polished stone. I looked stunning. Grinning, I extended my arms toward Nariah, pulling her into a hug.

Today is my birthday. And Nariah gave me a wonderful present. I had originally just intended to pretend that today was like any other day but still found myself wanting something special. I didn’t expect Nariah to remember, much less prepare a gift.

She made me a dress. Not as grand as my usual dresses but beautiful nevertheless. It was similar to the dresses Nariah often wore; a thin white top with collars that hugged my neck and ended right underneath my breasts along with a flowing teal skirt with highlights of white fabric that touched the ground. Beautiful teal-colored flowers and leaves were embroidered into the skirt. There was also a cardigan(?) that went with the dress. It was very loose and had kimono sleeves with the same flowers and leaves embroidered on to it. Nariah tied my hair up in a cute half-ponytail using the same fabric as my skirt and also attached a green and white hair clip. And _damn,_ if it doesn’t make me feel like a calm and beautiful ancient princess.

The day so far was absolutely awesome. Nariah had woken me up with a gentle kiss to my forehead, pointing at today’s date on the calendar. We were going through our usual routine when she gave me a sort of paste. Apparently, this paste was my soap for the day. And trust me when I say that I felt like a dog after bathing. The paste made my skin smell _magnificent!_ I kept on sniffing my arms, trying to breathe in my scent one last time.

Nariah had also cooked my favorite dishes for breakfast and made me her special jasmine tea. I was very happy. My mind would still slip from my control sometimes to imagine what my birthday would have been like if I were back home. I always push those thoughts away, feeling ashamed for even thinking of them. Nariah didn’t have to remember my birthday. She didn’t have to put in the effort to make that paste and the dress for me. She didn’t have to cook my favorite dishes.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I kissed Nariah’s cheek and whispered a quick thank you to her. She smiled at me and suggested we play some games.

We played my favorite board games until lunch (which also consisted of my favorite foods) and then Nariah brought this huge canvas from upstairs and set up all her painting supplies in front of me. _She wants to paint me,_ I realized with a rush of excitement, _Oh my god. With her painting skills, I’ll look like a fucking goddess._

I quickly asked her how I should pose and she chuckled. I ended up slightly turning to my right and sitting straight with my fingers clasped on my waist, covered by my sleeves. I had to admit, I wasn’t particularly impressed by the pose but whenever I tried to suggest something cooler like half laying and half sitting on the mattress, Nariah would hear none of it and practically force me to remain in the lame pose.

At the end, I decided to just let her do whatever she wanted. And after two hours or so, Nariah finally finished my portrait. To be honest, I don’t even know how I’ve been able to wait for that long. Giving Nariah a small glare, I demanded to see the painting right away. _This had better be good or else she’ll get it from me._

The painting was... splendid. It was just as I had expected- Nariah made me look gorgeous. In the painting, I was standing on a dark wooden deck in the same position I had been sitting in and behind me was a lake. My expression was placid, tranquil. And my eyes were calm and gentle.

In an instant, my previous annoyance vanished away. It was worth sitting in the same position for two hours. With a knowing smile, Nariah gently picked up the painting and hung it on the wall facing the window. I was pleased. None of my portraits back home captured me the same way that this painting had.

Leaning forward, I pressed another kiss to Nariah’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“You welcome.”

~~O~~

I closed my right eye and looked up at the sky again. Did the stars just...move? I’ve been inside for so long that I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten what the night sky looks like.

It was a quiet night with the usual breeze and Nariah’s plum blossom scent lingering in the air. I sighed in contentment. Laying on Nariah’s lap and looking at the stars while she gently carded her rough fingers through my hair was quickly becoming my favorite pastime.

It’s been five weeks since I arrived here and I can finally move my legs around a bit without hurting them too much. I still can’t walk, but I presume I should be able to put pressure on my legs in two more weeks. 

I still yearn to go back home. But I no longer think of the cottage as a place that took away my freedom. Surprisingly, at some point during my stay here, I grew attached to this place and thought of my arrival here as a beautiful mistake. And during blissful moments like this, I wondered why.

I suppose it’s because of the change in scenery. I belonged in a bustling city in a huge building with hundreds of people bothering me. I had to put up with my father, Sabrina, and all the annoying people in my classes. 

It’s so quiet here. Peaceful, even. This is a break from my busy lifestyle. And in spite of the horrible interior design of the living room, everything--and I mean every _single_ thing--in this place portrays beauty (surprising, I know).

I’ve come to appreciate the little things in life. Toothpaste, for example. And meditation. If I didn’t come here, I doubt I’d ever meditate.

Maybe it’s the _company_ that made me like this place, I mused. Living with a stranger who doesn’t know your real identity would really bring out your true nature. And trust me when I say that Nariah knows every single side to my personality. She can read me like an open book.

I glanced up at her. Lips set in a straight line, face expressionless: Relaxed. Stiff posture, eyes closed: Feeling cold. Gentle hands caressing my hair: Ignoring the cold because I want to stay outside longer.

My lips curled up into a small smirk. _She’s an open book to me as well._

As a result of my dratted period, I’d been uncomfortable and cranky the whole day. Nothing seemed to make me feel at ease. Had I been home, I would have sneaked into daddy’s private library to acquire a sweet, romance book and indulge my guilty pleasures about a tall, dark hero falling in love with a beautiful and innocent heroine.

But I wasn’t home.

Alas, my sweet, innocent self was stuck conversing with plain old Nariah about shitty things instead of reading about a handsome hero kissing his lover passionately.

Sigh.

Nariah tried multiple times to cheer me up but all I wanted was to listen to love songs and go through the LadyBlog while relaxing in my jacuzzi (it had marvelous rainbow lights!) and eating some chocolate ice cream.

Sigh.

Luckily, Nariah had found something that I would enjoy: getting out of the house after staying inside like some pathetic animal locked in a cage. Suffice to say I enjoyed going outside. Immensely.

And I’ve got to admit, Nariah was _clever._ She got this wooden board that was as long and wide as my forearm and somehow managed to attach two long rolling thingies that she uses to make tortillas. After testing it out, she made me sit on top of the wooden board and carefully pushed me out of the house.

I shivered. _We need to go back inside now._

_Or…._

I looked up at Nariah and found my question answered in her eyes. Grinning, I pull myself up and face Nariah, sitting down with crossed legs. We quickly grab each other’s wrists, close our eyes and start tapping our fingers against the other’s pulse point.

As soon as we both are in complete sync, breathing, tapping, posture and all, the magical heat forms where our hands are connected and the subdued flames slowly embrace our bodies, gentle, soothing, and protective.

Sighs of pleasure ring out that starry night as the two of us soak in each other’s presence, grateful for the warm fire that engulfed us and brought us together to experience this incredible connection.

~~O~~

I twirled to the right, moving my arms in a graceful arc, as Nariah twirled to her left in front of me, mirroring my arm movements and I am once again reminded of how much I missed dancing in the last 7 weeks.

My broken legs have healed and I am finally able to stand up and dance. And when Nariah told me that she is also fond of dancing, I felt stupid for being surprised. Is there anything in the world that the woman _can’t_ do?

And after digging through her room for a couple hours, Nariah found her “ponograp”, which is basically an extremely old device that can record sounds and is called a _phonograph_. Ignoring her terrible pronunciation, I tried to decide if I should be angry at her for not telling me she had a music recorder before or if I should be happy that I actually have music I can dance to.

The stick in my right hand clacked with the stick in Nariah's right hand as I hopped to the left and Nariah hopped to her left in front of me. We quickly turned away from each other with a swing of our hips so our backs faced each other and performed a set of sinuous moves with our hands that ended in our sticks colliding. 

Not stopping, I turned to my right and in one lithe movement, started another set of dance steps between us. All I can hear is my heart pounding and the clacking of our sticks and Nariah’s occasional laugh. Suddenly, there’s an itch inside of me, crawling up my feet to my head like an insect, fast and relentless, setting my skin on fire, filling me with anticipation and bringing out the competitiveness in me with each passing second.

Another bout of exhilaration and adrenaline sweeps through me as our feet move in tandem with the fast-paced beat, swinging, hopping and twirling around each other, our sticks clashing as our hands perform highly complex moves. We twist and turn and bend and jump, going impossibly fast and a crazed smile makes its way onto my face and _I know_ that Nariah sees it because she slows down for a microsecond but I don’t _care_ because with each step, each second, we are going faster, and faster, and _faster._

My eyes are half closed in pleasure as I revel in this wonderful moment because dancing with Nariah, my sweet _sweet_ Nariah, makes me feel so light-headed and drunk and _high_ on happiness that I can’t help but want this moment to last forever.

Ooohh, wasn’t this the best dance I’ve ever participated in~

Nariah’s phonograph has songs in many languages and all of them are _old._ I can’t help but wonder how she has the very first device that can record sounds just lying around in her bedroom when the instrument was created in the 1870s.

Sigh. There are so many mysteries surrounding Nariah that I lost track of the number. And at this point, the only thing I care about is dancing with Nariah.

~~O~~

I chopped the veggies and handed them to Nariah so she could add them to the pan. Then I opened my little handmade notebook and wrote down all the ingredients and their respective quantities that Nariah cast into the pan, occasionally asking her some questions and making little remarks about the dish we were cooking.

Just as I am arguing with her about how we should add another pinch of salt, two revelations occur to me and I stop talking mid-sentence.

I was arguing with Nariah. Winning an argument with Nariah is damn near impossible and I was foolish enough to try but that’s not the point. The point, I just realized, is that we both know enough of each other’s languages to communicate, hell _argue,_ without drawing or gesturing. A smile comes onto my face. Sure, our sentences consist of a strange combination of english, french, and whatever language she speaks but this is still good news!

“*Aenti?” _What is it?_

Nariah turned towards me with a little smirk on her face, probably thinking that I gave up on our argument.

“Nothing.” I replied, pushing the other discovery to the back of my mind. Thinking about Dupain-Cheng and her family will just spoil my mood.

“Nothing? *Ne chisht.” _Yeah right._

Nariah gave me a knowing look, making it clear how much she thought of my answer. After giving the contents in the pan another stir, she placed the cap on the pan. She washed her hands, wiped them with her dress and patted my cheek before going upstairs.

I sighed, a bit glad that Nariah didn’t press me for answers. I open my notebook again, writing down the amount of salt for the recipe and jot down my opinion and observations about the dish in a different color. I absentmindedly wondered if I should include some drawings of the ingredients.

I first started observing Nariah cook during the end of the 5th week. By that time I was already quite proficient at painting and was running out of ideas about what to paint. Seeing my dejected face, Nariah the old lady picked me up and placed me on the kitchen island. I wasn’t very willing at the beginning but since my other choice was to die of boredom, I grudgingly planted my bottom on the island and watched her make food day and night.

A couple days after, Nariah made a whole show of asking me to ground some beans. I refused, not wanting to stoop to the level of cooking food. Then, Nariah glanced over her shoulder and looked over my body with disdain and scorn. 

“*Ne. Mianhae. You too weak. Nariah _the old lady_ can do.”

In one sentence Nariah managed to anger me, hurt my pride, make me feel guilty, and challenge me. The next time she glanced at me, she found the beans thoroughly grounded.

I assisted her more during the 6th week and started writing down my favorite recipes in my notebook. During the 7th week I accompanied her to the little garden at the back of her house where she grew all her ingredients since I could finally walk. That was also when I first made lunch on my very own and served it to Nariah. Suffice to say, her reaction was perfect.

A soft orchestra piece starts playing, successfully interrupting me from my thoughts. Nariah walks over to where I am sitting on the kitchen counter and hands me the five, big books she was holding.

I look over the books with a frown on my face. They all had thick, dark covers with a small rectangular portion of white on the bottom of each of the front covers. Judging by the weight, the first one should be about 150 pages while the other four books are more than a 1000 pages.

“...What?”

“Gift.” Nariah gave me her usual smile but I feel like something is wrong. 

“What. Why?” Sure, I can understand some of what she says but I haven’t learned how to read her language yet. When I try to open the first book Nariah quickly swats my hand away.

“*Tewe.” _Stop._

She hands me a brush and points to the white spot on the front cover. “You name. Here.”

Okay...I write my name on all of the books with the black ink. Then, when I try to see what’s inside, the cover won’t open. I look at Nariah again. “Why…?”

“It...uh...if you solve it…you can see.”

I laugh and hold the books close to my chest. Of course. It wouldn’t be my Nariah if she didn’t make me work for it. “Ok. Thank you.”

I go to hug her when I see them through the window. Hundreds of black SUVs racing across the field and heading straight towards us. Seeing them, I am beyond elated, thinking that my fantasy of father sending police to find me came true. But as I watch the blood drain from Nariah’s face, my mind stops and I _desperately_ want to believe that she is afraid of me leaving her.

I absentmindedly caress my right wrist, hoping with all my being that this isn’t what I think it is. But as my eyes travel back to the window and take in the scene there, I know that I can no longer deny the reality.

~~O~~

Not wasting a second, Nariah gets to work. She closes the window and drapes the curtain over it. She runs upstairs and comes back wearing a light silk gown, her hair tied up in a messy bun. Meanwhile, I quickly put the burning pan aside, pour water over the fire, and run off to remove any traces of my existence- up to and including washing some of the dishes. Just as I finish, Nariah rushes to me and drops the books she gave me earlier into my arms. Her eyes are wide with panic as she plants a messy kiss on my forehead and is out the front door in less than a second.

My eyes redden and I wrench my mind from thoughts of Nariah. I know myself quite well, if I let even a single tear slip, the rest won’t stop. I shake my head a couple times, trying to clear my mind and think clearly. I scan the house. Hiding upstairs was like sharing a jail cell with Death. No places to hide outside. None of the cabinets are big enough to hide inside. I paced. Why is this house so damn small?!

I scan the house one more time, debating the pros and cons of each and every potential hiding spot but still not finding one that would work. I want to peek through the window to see the situation outside but I resist the urge. I have more important things to do.

~~O~~

Pulling the books more closely against my chest, I sigh. I don't know how long I’ve been hiding here. Ever since this whole fiasco started, I was relying on my adrenaline to keep me going. But now that I’ve found a place to hide and have been accompanied by nothing but my pessimistic thoughts, I’m tired. I haven’t even eaten anything for at least 5 hours. 

And I’m confused. Who are these guys? And Nariah...she just went out...just like that. This whole time, there were shouts of anger, pain, and just overall violence. All I can hope is that some other people came to help. I’m aware that Nariah isn’t your typical old lady. She is faster than me, stronger than me, and well, she consists of everything that your grandma doesn’t.

The grunts and yells are louder now, though not as many as before. I think they are closer to the front door now. Ugh..Is Nariah okay? How am I ever supposed to get out of here?

I look at the living room through the small crack between the wall and the door. That’s right. I am hiding in the bathroom. Behind the open door, to be specific.

Everything is quiet all of a sudden and my fear spikes. Why does this seem like the calm before the storm?

There is a loud bang and I watch in horror as Nariah gets thrown across the front door and her body slams into the carpet of the living room. She groans in pain. _Oh god_ . Her beautiful pink dress was drenched in blood. Her hair was a mess and there was a huge gash on her temple. _Oh my god._

I hear heavy footsteps and figure that somebody stepped into the house. I’m so scared I can’t look away from her. Moaning in pain, Nariah tries to get up when I hear the fateful shots. Three bullets. Fired as soon as Nariah moved. 

Time stops for me. I watch as Nariah’s body stills and then awkwardly falls back down in a bloody heap. _I...that…what…? Nariah…?_ I choke back a sob as the reality finally registers in my mind. I bring my hand up to my mouth and start crying quietly. _Nariah...they shot her… how...what...what should I do now?_

I freeze when I hear the footsteps and realize that they’re dangerously close to me. That’s right, what was I thinking? I wasn’t alone, there are criminals a couple steps away from me. And yes, there is more than one unwelcome guest in this house-- two, specifically.

I banish the image of Nariah lying motionlessly on the ground to the back of my mind, not wanting it to plague my thoughts and distract me from thinking logically.

I take a deep breath, pretending that I didn’t just see Nariah getting shot and think of this whole situation as one of those _apparently-this-shit-could-happen_ problems from my class. I take another deep breath and consider my current options. I look around and absentmindedly notice that the sun would set soon. 

From the way I look at it, I could either reveal myself and try to communicate with them; tell them that I was Chloe Bourgeois and that if they help me get back home, I would give them a lot of money. Or I could continue to hide and hope that they never find me and just go back to the hellhole they came from. The last option I have is going on the offense.

The more I thought about my options, the more I realized how fucked up they are. Reveal myself? They have guns; I am a coward if they don’t shoot me at first sight. And even if they don’t shoot me, how can I possibly prove to them that I was Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of the mayor of Paris? It’s not like I have an ID or something. And if they do believe me (they would be pure, 100% idiots then cuz I’m going to get them sentenced to death for hurting my Nariah), they could rape me, and threaten my father with my life. The list goes on. Obviously, the first option has to be crossed off.

The second option is, I’m only noticing now, highly unlikely and I would be stupid to go along with it. Hope they never find me? I can already hear them walking around and placing their disgusting hands on my Nariah’s stuff. Not to mention it’s almost sunset, and judging by the way one of them is breathing, that person is injured. So, more likely than not, they will be staying here overnight and would undoubtedly need to use the bathroom. In which case, they would find me and kill me for sure.

All these thoughts quickly run through my mind in bits and pieces as I keep an eye and both my ears out for any and every movement of the fuckers.

The last option I have is...going on the offensive. This one is maybe even more fucked up than the others. Sweet little me against two big-ass adult men carrying weapons? Yeah not happening. Seems like me getting out of this alive is also not happening. I don’t know why I’m feeling so calm about that. Probably because this is only one of the numerous times my life is at stake in the last two months.

I shudder. That is _not_ a reassuring thought.

I catch something shift from the corner of my eye and quickly move to the side a bit to see what’s going on. At first, I only saw the back of the man, standing near the kitchen counter. I take a quick sec to study him, trying to find out something, anything. Standing tall at 5’10, the fucker is wearing insignificant, ugly clothing and has short black hair. His left arm seems to be injured but what really catches my eye are the two handguns stuck in his jean’s back pockets and all the bullets attached to his vest. _Oh fuck my life._

That was only the “Rising Action” by the way, there is still more to come in the drama called _Chloe Bourgeois’s Fucked Up Life._ The “Turning Point” or the “Plot Twist” of this drama comes when the murderer turns around and Chloe finds out that she is _incredibly_ stupid for not cleaning up after herself properly because the murderer is now holding up her little handmade notebook in which she drew a picture of herself and Nariah being their usual affectionate self. 

The climax, you ask? Of course since the stupid Chloe Bourgeois just painted a target on her head, now the murderer would either look for her and kill her or go back to tell his superior about her existence. Then the superior would track her down and kill her.

I think I’m going crazy with stress, even thinking of myself in third person pov.

After realizing my mistake, I had a sudden, uncontrollable urge to just go up to the fucker, grab his gun and shoot myself in the head for my stupidity. I would have actually done it were it not for the fact that I dragged myself from the pits of hell to come to this place, to _live._ I felt like crying again when I realized that my only option now was to go on the offensive.

~~O~~

Just as I was about to execute my plan, the gorilla (oh wait, that’s an insult to gorillas) that was trying to open Nariah’s door upstairs (trust me when I say that he failed, it’s practically impossible to open her bedroom door) came downstairs. Cursing inside my mind, I quickly went back to my original hiding place and observed the scene.

I can only see the side profile of the second bastard but he’s a lot like the first one, wearing insignificant clothing and a vest full of bullets. Judging by his complexion, I’d say he was from South America. He’s also about 5’11 with tattoos covering all of his neck. I don’t think he is injured anywhere (unfortunately). I keep on observing, making random notes about the situation now. In my mind, I am already slamming his head against the wall repeatedly while yelling at him about how much more complicated he just made my life.

Tattoo guy steps a little closer and says something to the Injured guy. Their conversation becomes an argument and they start yelling at each other. At one point the Tattoo guy turns to the side and as a result, I see the other side of his face and the third-degree burn covering it. I cringe. _Damn, he’s ugly._

The first guy motions toward my book and I snap back to focus. _Uh oh._ If the second guy finds out about me, I’m dead meat. But before I could fully panic, a gunshot goes off. I watch in growing amusement as the first dude stumbles back into the island. His hands are shaking as he retrieves both his guns and starts firing. 

The noise from the gunshots reverberates around the house and hurts my ears but I don’t care. Because at this point, I’m so relieved that I want to laugh. _Greedy idiots._ I roll my eyes. Both these bastards obviously noticed that this house is filled with treasures. Now they both are fighting over who gets to keep what. Of course if it was me, I would have long taken care of the other people without alerting them.

I am actually quite pleased with how things turned out, if both of them kill each other then I would be so happy!

The gunshots end after a while, with the first guy dead. The second guy, however, probably has a few gunshot wounds but is doing relatively fine. I take a deep breath. _You are Chloe Bourgeois. The only daughter of the Bourgeois family. You are beautiful and wealthy. Strong and confident. Deadly and possessive. This person killed your beloved Nariah. Avenge her. Save yourself. You can take him out._ **_Live._ **

I close my eyes for a moment, chasing away all my doubts and then open them again. _It’s time._

I feel around my neck, jogging my memory and making sure everything is correct. I picture everything in my mind. One advantage I have is that the small bed I sleep on is right in front of the bathroom door. Behind the bed is the kitchen island. The bathroom is in the top left corner of the room and the stairs are on the bottom left corner. And luckily for me, there are two, thick, floor to ceiling glass shelves. _Okay._

I scan the bathroom, hide my books under the laundry and get the spoon Nariah usually uses to mix some ingredients to make our body wash. I draw the two knives hidden under my dress. Both of them are about as long as my hand and are your regular kitchen knives but much sharper (Nariah is a bit extreme, what can I say).

I grab the spoon and knives and quietly get up and plaster myself to the side of one of the big shelves. I take another deep breath. I listen for his breathing. Ok, he’s still gathering himself up. Then I chuck the spoon on the bed trying not to move my arm too much. The spoon lands with a quiet _thump._ I quietly exhale through my mouth and listen for any sounds from him; I don’t hear any. Oh good, then he heard the small _thump._ I inhale through my nose and slowly exhale through my mouth again, forcing my heartbeat to slow down. If my heart was beating fast, I wouldn’t be able to hear the bastard’s quiet movements.

He gets up and starts walking toward me (the other two routes to the bed are blocked by dead bodies). Suddenly, I’m scared. My heartbeat quickens and my breathing becomes louder. I’m terrified that I’m scared. _Oh shit, here he comes!_

I narrow my eyes and just as he is a small step ahead of me to my right, I jump up and my right hand lashes out and stabs his right external jugular vein. My left hand is not behind; in about 2 seconds, it draws back and swiftly embeds my second knife hilt deep into his left upper arm.

My victim screams out in pain and instinctually struggles against my hold. Unfortunately for me, he is huge so when his right elbow strikes my ribs, my body flys back from the impact and lands on the ground behind him.

I looked up at him, my lips parted in a petrified gasp. His half-burned face and the three bullet wounds covering his torso coupled with the two knives poking out of his body made him look like a monster from hell. He pulls the knives out of his body and glares at me. I whimpered in fear. Scared out of my mind, I crawled backwards and he started stalking after me.

“ _TU PERRA!”,_ he screamed at me and I flinched. He wrapped his hand around my throat in a chokehold and lifted me up. I uselessly scratched at his hand, coughing and crying out to him in french.

“ _Como te atreves a pegarme?!”_ His eyes are lit with maniacal gleam as he turns and slams me into the glass shelf to the side. Small pieces of glass rain down around us as he flexes his fingers around my throat. My head spins with the lack of oxygen and the pain from the splintered glass chips sinking into the back of my neck and head faintly registers in my brain. I moan.

He frowns. “ _Qué hace aquí una niña como tú?_ ”

He stops strangling me and tightly holds my shoulders. As I drank in some much needed air, his gaze raked over my body, taking in my fair complexion, slim figure, white dress, golden locks and beautiful face. When he met my gaze, the look in his eyes was enough for me to figure out what the bastard was thinking.

I shuddered in disgust. _Oh fuck my life._

The nasty son of a bitch grinned (probably thinking I shivered from anticipation), leaned into my neck, and like a fucking dog, took a big whiff of my scent. His groan of pleasure confirmed my suspicions. I resisted the urge to smack his face away. The bastard dragged his nose up to my cheek and gently nuzzled it, letting out a soft exhale.

I allowed myself to slightly smirk. _Yep, this idiot is completely infatuated with me._

And I wouldn’t be Chloe Bourgeois if I don’t take advantage of this sucker’s foolishness.

Exhaling in frustration, I wrap my hand around the collar of his shirt and shake him, seeming as if I didn’t know if I wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The man pulls back to see my face and I show him exactly what his lustful mind wants to see.

Beautiful, pink, pouting lips. Hazy, confused, _needy_ eyes. A golden bang that fell loose and shaped her face into that of an ethereal goddess in the sunset. A strong, capable hand that is both pushing him away and pulling him closer to her at the same time. A gorgeous, independent, and innocent girl that doesn’t know what to do about her sexual frustration.

The man collapses into my hands like putty.

 **_Some might say that it was wrong of me to use my body to achieve my ulterior motives_ ** _,_ I absentmindedly think as he slams his lips to mine.

 **_They might call me a whore, a slut_ ** _,_ I think as his fingers dig deeper into my waist and pull me closer against him. My right hand wraps around his lower back, encouraging his action.

 ** _You think I care?_** When I try to push him away again, he takes my hand in his and pins it to the rack beside my head. Feeling agitated and also a bit hurt, he possessively bites my lower lip, eliciting a fake, unwilling moan from me. **_Then the joke’s on you!_**

 **_If I have to seduce him into lowering his guard_ ** _,_ I forcibly remove my left hand from his grasp and bury my fingers into his hair. I take turns massaging his head and pulling his hair, anger and desire behind every single one of my movements. He moans, turning into a breathless mess into my arms. **_If I have to seduce him to kill him, lose my first kiss to kill him, how can he resist?_ **

**_When I fulfill his deepest, darkest fantasies of enemies-to-lovers and bad-boy-with-tattoos x independent-innocent-girl,_** My left hand wraps around the back of his neck and moves his head to my jaw. Happy to serve me, his mouth latches onto the hinge of my jaw, sucking a bruise there. I throw my head to the side, the splintered glass touching my face as I whine in fake pleasure. **_How can he_** ** _possibly_** ** _resist?_**

 **_He can’t. When an expert manipulator like me finds his weakness,_ ** I kiss him _hard_ , and then move on to kiss his neck. One side of his neck is covered in blood but lustful idiots wouldn’t be able to notice it. I bite him here and lick him there, driving him crazy with my teasing. **_He can’t resist. He will happily die for me._ **

**_To survive,_ **I think as I suck a mark into his neck and that’s it. That’s the last thing needed to turn him into a desperate, vulnerable man just chasing his release. He’s drowning in me, pleasure consuming his entire being, body on fire with his desire. I roll my tongue and a sharp piece of glass cuts into his left carotid artery just as I plunge my knife into one of his bullet holes. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I watch the bastard collapse and die from blood loss. I lick my lips.

**_There isn’t anything in this world that I wouldn’t do to survive._ **

~~O~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	6. EVERYBODY RUN!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!  
> i'm sorry for taking a bit longer than usual but school started and things have been a bit hectic.  
> anyway, enjoy !

~~O~~

Marinette collapses onto her bed, her weak legs finally giving in. She sluggishly removes all of her clothes and doesn’t bother to put on her pajamas.

“Ugh…”

Tikki floats over to Marinette’s pillow with half-closed eyes, just as tired as her chosen. She searches for something positive and uplifting to say but doesn’t find anything. With a resigned sigh, she says, “You worked hard Marinette, get some rest.”

“Mmh…”

Marinette cracks an eye open and glances at the pile of textbooks on her bedside table. 

“Ugh…”

Ever since she graduated from Collège Françoise Dupont and started her first year of lycée, all of her homework and assignments had become increasingly difficult and started sucking up a lot of her personal time. She still had to turn in her unfinished physics assignment in a couple of hours.

“Ugh…”

“Stop that, Marinette!” Tikki chided.

Marinette sits up, feeling annoyed. “Stop what Tikki? Stop what?!”

Tikki stayed quiet.

Marinette suddenly became even more annoyed. “What? Am I not even allowed to say ‘ugh’ while reflecting on my horrible, back-breaking life without you jumping on my head and scolding me for every little--”

“That’s enough, Marinette! Mind your words. Looking after Paris is your duty as Ladybug. And you know more than _anyone_ that without my ‘scolding’, you would be a complete mess!” Tikki floated up to Marinette’s face, fuming from her chosen’s words.

“I _know_ that it’s my duty as Ladybug to look after Paris! Look at me. _Look at me_ and tell me that I haven’t done my job!” Marinette gestured to her bruised, exhausted body.

“And it’s hard okay!” Marinette continued, “I have 3 assignments due tomorrow and I haven’t started any of them. Maman’s birthday is in a couple of days and I still have to prepare a gift for her. I’m sleep deprived and my whole body is sore. It’s hard for me to balance everything and not get frustrated, especially when you are constantly criticizing my every action.”

Tikki softened her stance, backing away and putting some distance between her and her chosen’s face. “I know, Marinette. I know it’s hard. But it would do you some good to remember that every single Ladybug before you went through the same thing, if not worse. Please mind your words. It’s unbecoming of a Ladybug to complain so much.”

Marinette pursed her lips, still a bit upset with her kwami. She wanted to argue but wisely held her tongue this time. In the end, she went with, “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry I lashed out at you, Tikki.”

Tikki smiled and touched her head to her chosen’s head and kissed Marinette’s nose affectionately. “It’s alright. I know these last two months were not easy.”

Marinette smiled and laid back down. Yawning, she completely ignores what her kwami just said and starts complaining again. “You know, I checked the news today while coming home from lycée and apparently there were more than 60 akumatizations in the last 2 weeks. Hmm. Let me calculate real quick. There! That’s more than 4 akumas per day. I wonder where Hawk Moth even finds so many butterflies. Speaking of which, do you think if we find out who is ordering so many butterflies we will be able to discover Hawk Moth’s real identity?”

Tikki absentmindedly nods along, wrapped up in her own speculations.

“Poor butterflies. Wait, who am I kidding? Poor citizens of Paris. _60_ akumatizations! Since I’ve become so busy I didn’t notice it, but all the Parisians must be really affected huh?” Marinette yawns, “Thinking on that, I think Chat and I are the ones who are the most affected. Just like me, my poor kitty probably has a lot of pending work.”

Marinette pauses.

Then she laughs bitterly. Tikki opens her eyes in surprise and turns to check if her chosen has finally become a crazy person.

Marinette laughs again. “Did you know, Tikki? For the longest time, I wanted Chloe to go. Get out of my class. My life. I used to think that if Chloe Bourgeois wasn’t in Paris causing so many akumatizations and bullying everyone, then my job would be much easier. I guess my selfish wish came true.”

“And now that I think about it,” Marinette sleepily mumbles, “Chloe is probably the only person on this planet who can cause so many akumatizations. If she’s here, people are upset. If she’s gone, people are even more upset.”

Tikki grimaces. “She’s a menace.”

“Mmh…” Marinette falls asleep.

~~O~~

Marinette jerks up when she hears the akuma alert. She reaches for her phone and turns off the awful screech with her eyes still closed.

“Noooo…”

Marinette wakes up Tikki (who was miraculously still asleep) and reluctantly gets off her comfy bed. She sleepily checks the time- _4:23 a.m._ Oh wow, she actually got about 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep. That’s nice. She refills Tikki’s glass of water and places a macaroon in her kwami’s plate before dragging herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

She wonders when she started brushing her teeth and washing her face instead of dropping everything and transforming when an akuma was on the loose. Just as she starts walking back to her room, she gets another dizzy spell. Groaning, Marinette leans on her wall and closes her eyes.

After she feels better, Marinette transforms into Ladybug. Not even the heady rush of power and adrenaline was enough to energize Ladybug. She checks the time; _4:27 a.m._

Placing her back against her pink wall, Ladybug opens up her yoyo and video calls Chat Noir.

“Guess we have another akuma to deal with, huh?”

There it is. Chat’s rough, husky voice laced with sleep.

Ladybug shivered and felt a familiar heat settle in her stomach when she heard his voice. It was sexily deep, interwoven with wicked delight.

She ignored it.

“Yeah, mon minou.”

Ladybug observed Chat Noir, seeing the tired droop of his shoulders and his red, sleep-deprived eyes. His face was hollow and terribly angular. He lost weight. Her kitty looked exhausted.

They both speak at the same time. “I’ll take this one.”

“No-no-no. Chat, you look beat.” Ladybug says. “Let me handle this one, I have today off anyway.”

She lied. Lycée started at 8:30 a.m.

Thing is, since there were so many akuma attacks at the oddest of times, Ladybug and Chat Noir started going solo when the other was unavailable. Ladybug didn’t like to take the risk before, seeing as it was too dangerous to go solo and Chat would have to save his Cataclysm for the butterfly (the poor thing would die) instead of using it to break the object (which would require a lot of planning and good luck.)

Chat looks at her for a moment, wanting to protest but knowing that it is futile to argue with Ladybug once she makes up her mind.

He looks at Ladybug for another second. Then he nods.

~~O~~

The latest supervillain called himself “The Hunter”. Equipped with Fortnite weapons with infinite ammunition, and sunglasses that possess inhuman vision, all the track records and information about any person that they focus on, the ability to locate any person, and suggest which is the most advisable weapon for the situation, The Hunter was a formidable foe.

“The Hunter” was also remarkably different from any other akuma. Dressed in classy navy-blue cotton trousers with a plain white linen shirt slightly tucked in and spot-less white oxford shoes, the black-haired 10-year-old boy looked nothing like the supervillain he was but instead a handsome and rich human boy.

Ladybug’s jaw dropped as she stared at the boy. She was quite reluctant to believe that he was the akumatized person. Where was the ugly costume?

But when the boy whirled around to face her and, with a flick of his wrists, produced two twin handguns and started firing at her, Ladybug didn’t need any more confirmation.

Pelted with bullets from the second he saw her, Ladybug fell into a heated battle with The Hunter. The akuma was relentless, firing bullets non-stop, not giving her even a second of time to call her Miraculous Ladybug since she was too busy defending herself.

Ladybug executed all of her strategies- moving constantly (The Hunter had perfect aim and was way too fast), rile up the akuma (he was immune to all of her attempts and sported an expressionless face the whole time), figure out why he was akumatized (unlike all the previous akumatized people, this one didn’t speak at all and just glared at everything and everyone), and hiding to figure out a plan (The Hunter was too persistent in firing at her and also had those glasses that could locate her).

They fought for more than 45 minutes when Ladybug started to realize that she was growing tired and the akuma was still in very good shape.

She needed Chat Noir.

Ladybug frowned. This was not going to do. She needed to come up with a plan.

Jumping back, she used her yoyo to bring down a chimney to shield her from The Hunter’s bullets. Quickly, Ladybug leaps into an alley, ducks behind a trash can, and detransforms. Then, she immediately runs out of the alley and into the street. 

If Marinette’s theory is true, The Hunter shouldn’t be able to tell Ladybug’s location now because “Ladybug” was Marinette now.

Quietly handing Tikki a chocolate cookie, Marinette turns to look at the akuma again. She would have loved to use her Miraculous Ladybug when she got the chance but Ladybug just didn’t have enough information about the Hunter. She would only have 5 minutes and she doesn’t even know the akumatized possession yet.

Keeping her eyes on the akuma, Marinette starts walking down the street. Her plan is actually quite simple. (Surprise!) 1. Stalk the Akuma to figure out what it wants. 2. Use Miraculous Ladybug to defeat the villain after finding out its weakness.

She just hopes Chat Noir doesn’t think that she needs help and decides to come out. Then, all of her plans will be ruined.

  
  


After confirming that Ladybug escaped, The Hunter uses his photochromic glasses to scan Paris for Ladybug and Chat Noir. No results.

_If only I could find Chloe this way._

He rolled his shoulders and willed his weapons to disappear.

 _Cam Ale._ _The bastard kidnaped Chloe._

_5’9. Green eyes. Long, brown hair._

Hawk Moth doesn’t have any other information. Useless piece of shit. Why can’t his Chloe just come back already?!

Using his glasses, The Hunter finds the address and name of his next victim. It’s probably not who he’s looking for. After all, if Chloe isn’t in Paris, the kidnaper probably isn’t either.

_Irrelevant. I’m not taking any chances._

Leisurely jumping onto a street, The Hunter tries to contain his excitement. 

_I can’t wait to destroy this city and get Chloe back._

Marinette watches as The Hunter jumps onto the street she was in and shrugs, adding a red hoodie to his outfit. Then he starts walking, easily blending into the crowd.

“--Marinette! Start following him!” Tikki pokes her head out of the purse and reminds Marinette.

“Yeah, I’m going.” Marinette runs up to the akuma and slows down when she’s right behind, trying to be as sneaky as possible.

The Hunter suddenly winces and looks down. For a second Marinette thinks she got caught but then realized that Hawk Moth was probably talking to him. Her heart goes out for him, such a little boy that Hawk Moth is taking advantage of.

Then she hears their conversation.

“--What?” The boy hisses. “Okay, that’s enough of your bullshit.”

Marinette blinked.

Pause.

“No, **you**!” Another pause. Then, “That’s what she said~”

Hawk Moth’s scream was so loud, even _she_ could hear it. Marinette tried not to giggle. Paris was in _danger_.

Another long pause. The akuma pulled his hood up and walked into a nearby bakery. She followed.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID BIRD!!” the boy screamed. “If you drop your controlling tendencies for _one_ damn minute and _listen_ to me, then you’ll come to your senses!”

This time Marinette could not stop her giggle. A chubby, 10-year-old boy calling Hawk Moth a “stupid bird” was just too hilarious. Luckily, by the time the akuma turned around, she had her phone up to her ear and pretended to be on a phone call.

Still muttering something, The Hunter goes to the counter and orders a red velvet pastry. Holding his pastry, he goes to a booth in the corner and sits down, a grumpy and annoyed expression on his face. It was a picture Marinette could never forget, an akuma eating a red velvet pastry as he chatted with Hawk Moth, the butterfly symbol flashing in front of his face.

Marinette also goes up to the counter and orders a latte, not wanting the akuma to think she was following him. A couple of minutes later, Marinette was seated in a booth close to The Hunter, their backs facing each other. She pulls out a couple of post-it notes and a pen from her purse, pretending to copy something in her phone onto the post-it notes.

“Stop complaining! Red Velvet is the best flavor. And this whole time, I’ve just been doing what you wanted.”

“ _No,_ it’s not _my_ fault we didn’t find him, it’s _your_ fault. You’re going blind, old man, you couldn’t even see what he looks like! Oh wait, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that. After he beat you up, you’re probably suffering from some self-esteem issues.”

Marinette’s mind was spinning from all the information and questions. Hawk Moth doesn’t want the miraculous anymore? Who are they looking for? How is Red Velvet the best flavor?

The akuma groaned in pain.

“Can you stop doing that?! Hawk Moth, we both know that if anyone is capable of getting Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous, it’s me. So if you still have some brain cells left over from before he beat you up, you wouldn’t hurt me. And how is it my fault that Chat Noir didn’t show up and his bitch ran away like a coward?”

 _His b*tch…_ That’s her, isn’t it?!

Marinette glared at the akuma.

“Uhh, Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Sure enough, her drink was ready to be picked up. Marinette glanced at the akuma again, debating whether she should go.

“--if only you gave me better powers. Then I could get Chloe back and stop seeing your stupid bird-poop face all the damn time…”

Yep. This is just a harmless bickering. She’s good to go.

Marinette packs up her stuff and starts walking toward the counter to pick up her drink.

“--after shooting young men with brown hair and green eyes, he abducts them…So far, we only have one victim but with both Ladybug and the akuma missing, we can only assume…”

Marinette freezes. 

_Crap!_

Whirling around, Marinette is met with the view of The Hunter taking out one of his guns and the oblivious brown-haired and green-eyed young man standing a couple of steps away from her.

_No no no no no...!_

Without a second thought, Marinette launches herself onto the man as fast as she could.

“Ah!” Landing on top of the man, Marinette topples them both to the ground, barely dodging the bullet.

“EVERYBODY RUN!!!!”

~~O~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, do u guys prefer short (2000 words) and frequent updates or long (5,000 words) and less frequent updates?


	7. Hahahahhaha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the chapter!

The bullet collides with the wall behind us and all hell breaks loose in the bakery. People are cowering under tables, running out the exit, crying, yelling, calling 112, or screaming to move. The akuma tried to shoot the man again but wasn’t able to because of the crowd.

“Go, go, go, go!” Marinette jerks the shocked man up and practically drags him out of the bakery.

“Wha-what’s happening?” said the man, feeling a bit scared and concerned by the surprisingly strong girl currently pulling him across the street. “Can you let go of me, Mademoiselle?!”

“Sh,” replied Marinette, as she ignored the man struggling and tightened her grip, dragging him after her as she ran. She came to a stop in front of a small, open store and plucked a green wig and black sunglasses from the stands, quickly placing a couple of bills on the counter and depositing the items on the Parisian.

“Wear these. Don’t remove them until the akuma is taken care of.” she fires off, “Go to the nearest house you can and shut all the doors, windows, and curtains.”

The man reaches up to remove the ridiculous wig, yelling “Excuse me, mademoiselle, but--”

Marinette had half a mind to glare at him. Instead, she interrupted him:

“You! Aren’t you following the news? The latest akuma is hunting men with brown hair and green eyes. You’ll get _shot_ if he finds you! Keep these on and don’t even _think_ about using public transportation. Now-- _leave!_ ”

When the words registered in his mind, he stumbled back with scared eyes and babbled, “Oh! Thank you so much, Mademoiselle! I’m so grateful to you. I’m so sorry for being so rude to you. Ahh! How could I have behaved that way~”

Marinette ignored his ramblings and forced a smile onto her face. “Yes. Of course. Now--be safe. Au revoir.”

With that, Marinette whirled around and ran back to the bakery, heading straight towards police cars situated there. She grabbed the arm of one of the inspectors and told him about the whole situation; There is an akuma here and it tried to shoot one of the customers. Please ask everybody here in this street to pay attention or better yet-- evacuate the whole area. The bullets are not magic, they _hurt_ people. Heed my advice and evacuate the whole area!

Without waiting to see his reaction, Marinette ran off again, her mind chanting _this is bad, this is bad, we’re screwed, this is so bad…_

Finding an alcove in Rue Montorgueil was not hard, and Marinette quickly transformed. Not wasting any time, she used her yoyo to stand on the roof of one of the buildings. The first thing she did was call Max through her earpiece and ask him to locate her and keep an eye on her surroundings. He was to inform her immediately if the Hunter was anywhere near her.

Then, she phoned the mayor, asked him to place an order for the evacuation of Rue Montorgueil. She told him what the akuma looks like and asked him to make sure the public stayed away from it. She briefly informed him of the whole situation (including the hostage situation) and, after a moment of hesitation, she inquired about the akuma. Who is he? How was he related to Chloé and what could be the akumatized object?

“Ahh…him…” said Mayor Bourgeois in a thoughtful tone, “His name is Raphael Aguillard.”

Ladybug paid full attention, desperately hanging on to any piece of information she could get her hands on.

“As to what the akumatized possession is,” The Mayor continued, “I’m not too sure, but I think the glasses were a gift from my dear Chloé. However, it could also be the gun, the boy loves to play all these violent video games all the time. But, Ladybug, if I were you, I wouldn’t cross off his shoes or his hoodie from the list because, from what I understand, they’re his favorite hoodie and pair of shoes...”

Ladybug, “...” 

_Mayor Bourgeois, if you have the answer, tell me. But why do you have to torture me by making it seem impossible to beat him wuwu…_

Ignoring her inner distress, Ladybug forced her mouth open and asked the question the Mayor cleverly tried to avoid answering.

“...And his relationship with Chloé?”

The Mayor gulped. “...is close. They’re very close.”

Ladybug stayed quiet, waiting for him to enlighten her about this secret aspect of Chloé’s life.

He sighed. “I’m his...guardian.”

Ladybug’s jaw dropped.

~~O~~

Chat Noir strode up to her, looking very worried. “Milady. You okay?”

Ladybug turned around to face him, comforted by the presence of her close friend. “I’m good, Chat. Thank you for asking.”

Chat stepped closer to her, “What’s happening Ladybug? Why did you ask for an evacuation order to be placed on Rue Montorgueil? What are we up against?”

Ladybug groaned. “It’s a long story. To sum it up, the akuma calls itself ‘The Hunter’. I don’t know what he wants yet, he’s not exactly coming after me for my miraculous. He’s only used guns so far and I’m pretty sure his glasses can identify the location of any person and recommend which weapon is best suited for the situation. Also, his bullets are not magic, they’re real and cause real harm.”

Ladybug paused. Then, with a small and frustrated voice, she said:

“I am _nowhere_ close to figuring out what the akumatized possession is, and...Chat...I’m feeling so helpless. This is taking me so long, and now you have to come to help me...”

Ladybug looked down. “I’m sorry.”

She heard Chat coming closer but didn’t lift her head.

“Milady...” Chat whispered gently, warmth and kindness adorning his voice.

He took a hold of her jaw, his fingers cradling it with a firm grip as he lifted her head. His forehead was lightly touching hers and Ladybug let out a small gasp at his proximity. He was so close, leaned over her, that she could feel his breath on her lips and his intoxicating cologne surrounding them both. They both were breathing fast, feeling the delicious heat emanating from the other’s body. His green eyes bored into hers, unblinking and honest, willing her to understand the emotions he was feeling. She stared back, her bluebell eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Ladybug...” Chat whispered hoarsely, and his hand holding her jaw traveling to the back of her neck. “ _Nǐ zhēnshi tài wánměile.._ ”

Ladybug’s eyes fall close at his low voice, her body trembling with shivers. She arched her back slightly, like a flower blooming in the palm of his hand. He took in a shaky breath and leaned even closer, resting his nose on the side of hers. He was _so_ close to her, his mouth merely a couple of centimeters away from hers. Her lips parted, silently pleading him to continue his ministrations on her…

Chat places a light, fleeting kiss on her temple and pulls back. Confused, Ladybug opens her eyes, only to find Chat standing a couple of steps away, a small smile on his handsome face.

“I hope you remember, Milady, that there is nothing wrong with having a difficult time when facing an akuma alone. We’re a team, after all.”

Chat’s words were sweet but Ladybug just felt frustrated. Wasn’t Chat Noir just about to kiss her? He had kissed her temple, which was a perfectly friendly and affectionate gesture...Had he intended to do that from the beginning, or was Ladybug just expecting and wanting too much again?

“Marinette! DUCK! He’s here!”

Ladybug immediately grabbed Chat and plunged, narrowly missing the bullet.

“Incoming! Sidestep to your right, Mari!”

“Duck!”

“He’s behind you now! Get away!”

Ladybug pulled at her hair in frustration. This was not going to do!

The Hunter seems to have taken the role of a sniper. If not for Max’s help, they would’ve been dead meat in seconds.

Chat met her eyes. She nodded. He nodded back. And then they were off.

Ladybug’s yoyo latched onto a roof and she swung away as Chat extended his staff and vaulted in the opposite direction.

The Hunter pursued Chat. Bullets were fired one after the other, sometimes even together, leaving a fiery trail of debris and glass behind them. The Hunter was hot on Chat’s tail and even though Ladybug wanted to use the opportunity for her Lucky Charm, she knew she couldn’t, not after seeing Chat at risk like that, escaping the bullets by mere inches. He needed the Bluetooth more than her right now.

She swung around, found the right angle, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled. Clear, and high-pitched, the sound cut through the air like a whip.

Chat’s head snapped up towards her, his eyes intense and accusing as they glared at her. Ladybug faltered.

“ _Marinette!!_ ”

Chat’s pupils slit before they widened again in alarm.

Ladybug could guess what was happening. She tried to change her trajectory, but she came to realize that yoyos weren’t very good at changing direction in the middle of a swing and were very predictable.

Figuring that the Hunter would be aiming at the place she would be in a couple of milliseconds, Ladybug hastily disconnected her yoyo from her suit, and as the yoyo swung on without her, she plummeted to the ground.

“ _Milady!_ ”

Chat Noir leaped for Ladybug, trying to catch her before she had a nasty fall.

Just as he caught Ladybug, the Hunter fired.

“ _No!_ ”

The bullet grazed Chat’s left leg, tore through his costume, and left a bloody gash.

“Ah!”

In the moment of panic, Ladybug caught sight of The Hunter, crouched behind a small ledge in the roof in front of them.

“No!” Ladybug saw the victorious grin on The Hunter’s face. She could feel what was about to happen. With a guttural cry, Ladybug shifted so she was between Chat and the akuma.

“ _Ahh!_ ”

With a small jerk, Ladybug’s body fell against Chat Noir’s, the blood from her right shoulder smearing his suit. 

“L-Ladybug...?”

Chat wrapped his arm tighter around Ladybug and leaped inside an open window. They both landed in a heap on the floor. Chat’s injured leg wasn’t able to hold up the both of them. Ladybug’s eyes stung and she clutched her shoulder in pain.

It was a two-story building and they were on the upper floor, which seemed to be some kind of office. There were monitors lined up on desks and there was a small sitting area in the corner. And sitting at those desks were people. 

The workers were staring at the superhero pair with stunned expressions.

“What are you guys doing here?!” Ladybug screamed at them. The whole street was to be _evacuated_ so no one would get hurt. It was citizens like these, ignorant people who thought they could handle akumas, that made her job so difficult.

Chat quickly assessed their surroundings; open and uncovered glass windows _everywhere._

“Uh…Hi guys. There’s this akuma around and we’d appreciate your help. You see, Ladybug got shot, so it’d be great if you could bandage her up. Also, it isn’t safe here, with all these windows, so we all need to get moving to the ground floor as soon as possible.”

“Will you be able to get my yoyo for me? I need it for my Lucky Charm. By the time you get back, I’ll stop the bleeding and recharge. And… Hello, folks. You don’t need to stay to look after me, just please give me a first aid box or some towels or something. Then, I’ll escort you out safely.”

A chorus of yeah’s and sure’s came from the group. They all trudged downstairs, the superhero pair supporting each other, and the rest of the group collecting their belongings and the first aid kit.

Ladybug handed Chat her earpiece and briefly told him about it. After quickly taking care of his wound, Chat set off to retrieve Ladybug’s yoyo.

Then Ladybug, with some difficulty, turned towards the group they encountered and quickly told them some instructions and helpful tips to unnoticeably flee the place. When they asked about her injury, she explained that she would need to detransform and that she could do it by herself.

So the group of people left.

“Tikki spots off!”

The pink magical light enveloped Ladybug.

Tikki fell onto Marinette’s lap. Her kwami curled into itself, shivering. There was an enormous amount of shining golden liquid flowing out of Tikki’s upper back. Marinette’s shoulder still hurt like hell but she knew it was nothing compared to the pain Tikki was going through.

“Tikki! I know you’re very hurt right now, but I need you to tell me how to make it better for you! We don’t have much time.”

Marinette fished through her purse, took out a macaroon, and slowly fed it to Tikki. As she watched her kwami, Marinette was at a loss. Tikki was so tired she could barely chew, much less talk.

“Use...bl..ood...to...” Tikki burst into a fit of coughs. “...Heal.”

“Okay, okay. I got it. Don’t strain yourself,” Marinette was on the verge of tears. “Take it easy.”

Marinette quickly collected all the golden liquid in her hands and then spread it over the skin of her injured shoulder. The next few minutes were quiet.

Which was probably why Marinette detected another presence in the building, one which wasn’t her kitty. Tikki was still sleeping, the bleeding stopped but her kwami was still very weak. Marinette gently tucked her to the side, hiding her from plain view.

She was starting to feel a bit annoyed by this now. Was it that the mayor wasn’t doing a good enough job of keeping the public informed or was the public just choosing to ignore the orders? What if somebody got hurt?

Marinette thought that it was just another harmless Parisian, which was why she was completely vulnerable when Mayura attacked her.

~~O~~

Marinette shot up from the ground, braced her hands to her sides, and made a conscious effort to not touch her right shoulder.

She snickered, dark and mockingly.

_What an irony._

“Well,” Mayura said, her voice alight with sinister glee. “Hello, Ladybug.”

The villainous stood a couple of feet away, a twisted smile curling her mouth into something obscene, even as her body was buzzing in delight from her discovery. Not a single strand of her short blue hair was out of place, her skin almost glowing with health and power, her pink irises bright and hungry. The more she realized that she uncovered the famous Ladybug’s secret identity, the more energetic she became, and from the way Mayura’s body trembled from the anticipation of the pleasure Hawk Moth would give her when she reported back, Marinette could see that letting Mayura escape today will not bode well for her.

“Now, now, little girl,” Mayura says in her usual serious voice, “It’s time to give me your miraculous.”

Marinette stays still.

She laughs. “It’s not like you can defend yourself against me anyway. Your kwami is useless now.”

Marinette stays quiet. She was racking her brain open to find possible ways out of this impossible situation.

Mayura takes another step forward. Her pink eyes had darkened considerably, and Marinette could tell that she didn’t have much time.

“I’ve seen you before. If you give me your miraculous now, without putting up a fight, I won’t publicize your identity. I promise.

“Paris doesn’t have to know the identity of the hero who failed them.”

Silence.

Marinette swallows.

“I… I’m not Ladybug.” She tries to make her voice scared and wobbly. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Time’s up, bitch.” Mayura charges forward.

~~O~~

One might say Marinette did a good job fighting against Mayura, especially since she didn’t have the same advantage of enhanced speed, strength, and agility.

If you ask Mademoiselle Marinette, she would first demand how and why people have access to this kind of information. Because for all she knows, Marinette did _not_ do well.

~~O~~

She held up pretty well for the first 10 minutes or so. Then she got beat up. Badly. Thrown across walls, bruises, and blood everywhere, desperately trying to get away.

Even though Marinette kept her ears guarded the whole time, Mayura managed to get one of Marinette’s earrings. And that was when Marinette realized that she couldn’t afford to give Tikki any more time to rest.

“Tikki, spots on!”

The bright pink light enveloped the room and for a moment, everything was a nightmare.

Pain exploded in Marinette’s body, never like before. Her body felt like it was being ripped apart. Streaks of gold appeared in her vision, and her eyes went to the back of her head. Screams were echoing in her ear, over and over again. Screams and shrieks that were shattering her eardrums.

For one second, Marinette wished she were dead.

Then it all suddenly quietened down. She couldn’t hear the screams anymore. But her head hurt _so_ much. Marinette clutched her head and closed her eyes tightly. She was freaking out.

_Relax,_

The female voice resonated in her mind, musical, penetrating, and a little breathy.

“Wha-What?”

But Ladybug didn’t have enough time to make sense of what was happening. Mayura was already attacking her.

She ducked just in time.

“Ti- _Tikki?!_ ” Ladybug gasped. “Is that you in my head?!”

The answering laugh was so soft and melodious that Ladybug’s heart stuttered.

_Yes, child. Some call me that._

“Oh...”

She cartwheeled away from Mayura.

Ladybug looked at her arms, which were glowing with a faint light.

“You have other names?”

Ladybug knew that her question wouldn’t be answered. Tikki never divulged this kind of information.

 _Oh yes,_ the voice said, _I have several names._

Ladybug was too busy to speak much after that. She supposed that it was to her advantage that there weren’t people around for Mayura to use her amok.

But she could tell, her body couldn’t stand this for much longer. The pink light surrounding her was sucking up all her energy. She could feel herself getting slower. She didn’t have much time now.

_Tell me what it is that you need. I shall bestow it._

The gears in Ladybug’s brain whirled as they searched for a solution. She needed something simple and direct right now.

She smiled mischievously. “Can you get me a super strong magic tape?”

~~O~~

Ladybug dusted off her hands, proud of the work she’d done. She turned to Ms. Natalie and gave her a bright smile.

“Oh, cheer up, Ms. Natalie!”

Ladybug walked towards where the villainous was tied up, plucked the peacock brooch from her sweater, and patted her shoulder as if reassuring her that everything will be alright.

She held up the pretty peacock brooch to the sun, examining it. “Huh.”

_Where is Phloem?_

Ladybug scrunched up her face in confusion. “Who’s Phloem?”

_Oh._

_Uhm._

_Nevermind that. Where is your other half?_

“ _Yeah._ Where _is_ he, Tikki?” Ladybug jokes. “I’ve been waiting for him my whole life.”

_Do not jest, child. It is not auspicious to be separated from your destined match._

Ladybug’s heart skidded to a stop and then started beating twice as fast as before.

_Destined match?_

Her cheeks heated up.

“Chat Noir is getting my yoyo.”

_Ah._

There was a pause.

_Your enemies are getting stronger. Have you thought about what to do about that?_

“Yes.” Ladybug nodded. “I have a couple of ideas in mind.”

_Good. Have you considered procreating children?_

“Procreation of children?” Ladybug frowned. “What does that have to do with this?”

_Do you not know your partner intimately yet?_

Pictures flashed in Ladybug’s mind, pictures of how Chat almost kissed her today, and other pictures. Very _very_ inappropriate pictures of her and Chat getting to know each other intimately.

Ladybug quickly shook the thoughts away.

“Um,” Ladybug replied awkwardly. “No, I don’t know him intimately.”

_What! Phloem is so useless! He doesn’t do one thing, and just leaves it all up to me!_

“Hey, hey, New Tikki,” Ladybug tried to change the subject, “I need to detransform. When Chat left, I was here on this floor, so should I go upstairs and detransform? You know, in case he comes in while I’m not transformed?”

There was a long pause.

_Yes, go upstairs to detransform._

Ladybug trudged upstairs, thinking about whether she should ask why Tikki was suddenly able to communicate with her and...why she suddenly didn’t seem like her old self.

She made sure all the curtains were closed before detransforming.

“Tikki, spots off!”

The detransformation wasn’t as painful as her transformation. In fact, it went relatively well. Marinette caught her unconscious kwami before she fell. Setting aside her kwami, Marinette retrieved a small water bottle from her purse and took a long gulp.

The beige curtains billowed and flapped loudly.

Marinette turned just in time to see Chat Noir diving into the room. Her eyes bulged as she then proceeded to see Chat Noir detransform.

Their eyes met.

She choked.

Coughing, Marinette quickly turned around. Her heart was beating so loudly, it was the only thing she could hear. She took in a stuttering breath. Their eyes only met for a moment, but Marinette knew that she’d never forget it.

Ironically, Marinette wanted to forget the whole thing.

_Goddamnit._

She knew who he was! 

Adrien _Freaking_ Agreste!

Marinette raked her fingers through the strands of her hair and gripped them hard.

What has she gotten herself into?

Now, because of her irresponsible actions, she must suffer the consequences.

Return her Miraculous to Master Fu.

Her mind was racing. Hawk Moth became even stronger throughout the years, and considering the latest akuma’s powers, they were falling behind. But now, everything would fall into the hands of some immature, inexperienced, amateur Ladybug.

_Crap! Crap, crap, crap…!!!_

Marinette was close to tears now. For years, she’d been so, so careful about avoiding this. But now...now she messed up everything.

 _Calm down, Marinette,_ Alya’s voice echoed through her mind and effectively calmed her down. God bless her best friend. _Think. Think about how you can salvage the situation._

Right. Chat Noir was in such a hurry he might not have seen her! And she turned around so quickly--

“...Marinette?”

She turned around. “Oh! Hi, Adrien!”

She hoped her face didn’t give her away.

“Hi...Have you seen Ladybug around here?” Adrien scratched his neck and an awkward chuckle fell out of his lips. “I’m kinda looking for her.”

Oh, shoot.

She was hoping to avoid the topic.

“Ladybug? We need to talk about you first.” Marinette tried to twist her expression to look innocent and confused. She didn’t succeed. “How did you come here? I swear I didn’t see you a few minutes ago.”

“Ah…about that...haha” Adrien’s laugh was so strained and awkward that she almost felt bad for the boy.

He looked around the room, his eyes desperately trying to find something that would distract her.

This amused Marinette to no end.

It shouldn’t, but it did.

“Perhaps…” She gave a long pause and leaned closer. “...You are Chat Noir?”

Blood rushed into his face, leaving him redder than a tomato.

Adrien gulped.

Ohmigod, this is so much fun! God, she never saw her kitty like this.

“Ha.” His mouth constantly shifted from a grimace to a smile. “Haha.”

“Hahahhahha.”

A pause.

"Hahhahha."

Marinette didn’t know how to describe what she was feeling.

“Hahaha.” She forced out a laugh, just as awkward.

“Hahahhhahaahhahah.” Adrien sounded like he was being strangled. “Marinette you’re so funny.”

Marinette was speechless.

“Isn’t it funny?” He continued and threw his head back in laughter. “Oh my god. That you would actually think that! Besides, I’m as close to being Chat Noir as you are to being Ladybug.”

Marinette would have been offended if not for the panic that rushed up through her at the words.

“What?” She tried to let out a laugh. “No way am _I_ Ladybug! Hahaha!”

Marinette suspected she looked constipated.

Adrien’s eyes flitted to the table beside her, resting on Tikki’s unconscious form. “...Right. Of course, you aren’t Ladybug.”

Marinette clenched her teeth. She would stay strong.

“Of course not.”

She supposed it really has something to say about her character, being so shameless as to deny it when the proof was lying right beside her.

Adrien lifted his green eyes to meet hers.

Her breath caught.

The look in those eyes…

Her knees felt weak.

“So, Marinette,” Adrien murmured, coming closer to her. “What do you suggest we do now?”

The pictures from earlier flashed in her mind. She licked her lips.

“What do you want us to do now, hmm?”

_I have a couple of ideas._

_Goddamn._ Now that she knew Adrien was Chat Noir, her attraction to him seemed to have suddenly doubled.

All she wanted to do was press her lips against his and confess her love to him.

“ _Tikki!_ ” There was a black blur and Marinette followed it to see a small black cat hugging her kwami.

From the looks of it, this was Plagg, Chat Noir’s kwami.

“Plagg! What are you doing?!” Adrien hissed.

“Oh shut up,” Plagg sneered. “Your relationship is already complicated enough. You don’t need to add to it by pretending to not know each other’s identities.”

Well, he had a point.

She turned to Adrien and raised an eyebrow.

He smiled sheepishly. “I guess we both know each other.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

~~O~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can I get some kudos and comments? (✿╹◡╹)


	8. Special: My world is yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again. I decided to post this special chapter as a thank you and apology to all my readers. You guys have been really patient with me and the updating of chapters and I haven't been updating as much I should.
> 
> Also, just so you guys can read the last part of the chapter peacefully, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE IN THE THEATER ROOM.
> 
> I repeat, IT'S JUST THE TWO OF THEM IN THE ROOM.
> 
> enjoy!

##  **Adrien**

I waited for her near the bakery. 

Call me a coward but I didn’t want to wait inside the bakery. Picking her up like that…I’d want to go to her room...her room that was filled with her scent and bore her mark everywhere…and then we’d hug and ki-- I shook my head. We didn’t tell her parents about us yet so it’s best not to make it too obvious. So yeah, no.

It was raining again. Wasn’t it raining when she started to like me, on my first day of collége?

I looked up to the sky, watched the rain as it came down harder, as it hit concrete and grass. I could smell it-- wet, clean, and earthy. Feel it dampening my face. I probably should've been waiting inside that clothing store, but every time I heard the bell that signaled the door to the bakery opened, my heart would do a fast roll in my chest and I’d look out the window.

Damned stupid bells.

Damned stupid me.

So I stepped outside and decided to wait for her there. I felt like a little kid, impatiently waiting to open my Christmas present.

I let out a mocking breath and let the dark thoughts inside.

Christmas. As if I ever really celebrated it after mom died. As if I ever decorated a tree after that, or received even a small “Merry Christmas” wish from my father. After everything that happened that first Christmas without my mother, which included my disappearance and then that wonderful night spent with all of my friends and their families, I had thought that father changed for good. I had thought that we would spend more time together, celebrate more festivals together. Oh, how wrong I was.

As time passed, I considered myself lucky if I was alone during the holidays. My dad and Natalie celebrated it by getting shitfaced drunk. Together. Ran around the house naked and then ended up sleeping with each other. It was disgusting.

It didn’t bother me before—how I grew up. But Mari made me picture what Christmas should be like, would be like. I pictured a small girl with midnight blue-black pigtails, frosting on her nose, running like mad to the living room to open her Christmas presents. Impatient, eager, excited. Surrounded by family who adored her.

And then a picture of a sad, pitiful boy standing alone in an empty living room. Hungry, lonely, angry. Discarded.

Something tightened in my chest. It made me realize how different we were from each other. How I didn't deserve to be with her, how she deserved more. How our differences might break us apart someday.

I wanted her to stay. Desperately wanted her to stay.

I glanced at my watch. 8:21 am.

_When the hell is she coming?_

A slow grin spread over my face as I heard the ping of the doorbell, then the quiet click of the door closing. When I looked up, she was there, adjusting her backpack, smiling at me.

Every dark thought in my head disappeared.

“Morning, Adrien,” she said.

“Hi,” I said lamely.

We walked to her car, a black Nissan Versa, and got in. She adjusted the driver’s seat and I threw our backpacks in the backseat. And just looked. Looked at her.

Her eyes had that mischievous sparkle that said _I’m going to get you in trouble._

 _Milady,_ I thought, _I’m already in trouble._

Her eyes were an electric blue today, rather than dark blue. Her loose hair tumbled down her shoulders in a way that drove me crazy. She was wearing a dark green sweater—one I gave Ladybug as a gift. I thought about easing it up, revealing her inch by inch. Teasing her, sucking her skin and leaving pink marks, until she begged for more.

Or until _I_ begged for more.

“Breakfast?” I asked.

“Done. You?”

“Ah, I see. You want _me_ for breakfast?” I teased.

Her eyes widened in surprise before her lips stretched into a smirk. “You’re easy. ‘Kay, jump on a plate. I’ll eat you.”

I laughed. God, I missed her.

“I’m wearing the sweater you gave me.” She sliced her hands up in the air, displaying the sweater like it was a prize.

“I know,” I said. “Looks good on you.”

_Looks even better without._

“What did you do last night?” she asked.

My ears heated up. She might blush if I told her what I did last night. It included a picture of her in my mind. And my hand.

She fluttered her lashes at me. “Come on, tell me.”

_I’d rather show you._

I reached for her because it was unbearable not to. My fingers fisted in her hair, the scent of vanilla permeating the air, before they stroked down her neck. She closed her eyes, offering her lips to me.

I held her like that for a moment, my gaze hungrily taking her in, and tortured us both as I placed a light kiss on her throat, rubbing my lips down, down until her sweater stopped me.

I wished I could unwrap her like a present.

“Kiss me,” she demanded softly.

There was nothing I’d want more, but after years of her brushing away my feelings, I wanted her to burn for me, the way I burned for her. I craved it.

After all the dark thoughts in my head, I needed her to show me how much she wanted me. To soothe, to reassure, to cast away my demons. Besides my mother, I never needed it from anyone before, never asked for it. From her, I needed it.

And maybe it was a fight I was bound to lose, maybe it was reckless of me, but I couldn’t stop wanting it. Looking for a way to get it. Only Marinette could give it to me. No one else. I wanted no one else.

“Later,” I said. I could hear the rasp in my voice, the thickness of it, and wondered if she understood it.

Her eyes flew open. “What?”

I bit my bottom lip and slowly released it, dropping the car seat lower. Folding my hands beneath my head, I closed my eyes and tried to appear relaxed.

Inside I was burning.

~~O~~

She ignored me the whole ride to lycée. She fronted a good poker face, but I knew Ladybug and her infamous poker face too well. Her eyes had a hidden glint, filled with annoyance, desire...and excitement. Somehow, I knew she enjoyed this. I could hear the gears turning in her head. Clicking away at the plan she had for me—her revenge.

You wouldn’t have seen these emotions in Marinette, who was usually sweet and shy. But Ladybug—that was a whole different story. Mmh. That hidden side of Marinette was exquisite.

The rain had stopped by the time she parked. The loud bang of her driver’s side door echoed as she slammed it close. She walked ahead of me, wouldn’t even turn her head. I had to suppress my smile.

I don’t know when or why I started to like pushing her buttons. Probably had something to do with my past relationships and explicit content on the internet. Did that make me a kinky bastard? Maybe.

“You gonna talk to me?”

She kept walking. I bit into my knuckle, imagining biting her bottom lip instead.

“Hey, Marinette!”

She turned.

“Hey, Chad!” she beamed.

Why in hell was she beaming?

Chad jogged to her, chatting away like she was _his_ girlfriend. Then she laughed hard at something he said.

_No fucking way._

I knew Chad very well. He was one of my closest friends and he had my trust. I just… I couldn’t help but feel irritated about how easy it was between them. This was my fault, but I didn’t like seeing her pay attention or laugh like that with anyone when she was ignoring me all morning. I especially didn’t like the possessiveness burning in my chest at seeing them together. This wasn’t like me. But it was still there.

I stopped in my tracks, waiting for it to fade. It didn’t.

I glared at their backs and went after them. Nudging Chad to the side, I placed myself between the two of them.

Chad raised his arms in front of him, smirking at me. “Easy, man, take it easy. There is enough of me to go around.”

Marinette laughed.

“What have you been feeding him lately, Mari?”

_Mari?_

I turned towards her. She winked at Chad, gave him a sweet smile.

Yeah, _okay._

“Later, _Mari!_ ”

I made sure Marinette was facing away before spinning around to give Chad the finger, but he was already running down the corridor, winking at her, rubbing it in my face. It seemed as if they formed a bond. Both knew what buttons to push to get me going.

“I’ll walk you to your class,” I said in a tight voice.

“Says who?” she shot back.

“Says me. You think he’s the only weirdo roaming these halls?” I asked, my voice sounding a little rougher than intended.

“You’re the only weirdo,” she sassed, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “Go away, weirdo. Don’t you have some weirdo things to do?”

And with that, she proceeded to enter the lecture hall and closed the door to my face.

I wasn’t surprised. The Marinette I knew wasn’t like this. But my Ladybug and I have fought quite a few times over the years.

Class was a pain. The lecture theatre was filled with noisy students. It was as if I was the only one who wasn't sexually satisfied. The professor droned on and on about the best practices in ethics. I shut his voice out and thought about a woman with a sassy mouth. _Weirdo,_ I thought and chuckled quietly.

“What’s funny?” Chad whispered from beside me, clearly not listening to the professor either. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was texting, hiding his phone behind the seat in front of him.

I still remembered how Mari laughed at whatever he had told her.

“Your face, that’s what,” I said.

He typed furiously on his phone before throwing me a glance. “I know. It’s gorgeous. Thanks.”

“Hi, Adrien.”

I barely looked up and then politely nodded at her.

Chad sighed, shaking his head at me, and when I looked, he was mouthing “Smooth. Real Smooth.” Then he turned to the girl. “Hi, there.”

“Hey, Chad. Do you have time for a coffee after class?” This time I looked up. It was a girl sitting on the other side of him. All flirty eyes, all flirty pouty lips. “Maybe Adrien can come with.”

“Nah, I’m good,” I said.

“Forget about him. He’s taken,” Chad said, using his flirty voice reserved for girls. “So, are you asking me out on a date?”

I ignored them.

Marinette had beautiful eyes—the most beautiful of them all. Wide and slightly slanted, her eyes were gems, pretty blue sapphires, with long and thick lashes.

But that wasn’t all. I knew Ladybug, but I didn’t know her completely. There is only so much time between fighting akumas to get to know the love of your life. I wanted to get closer to Marinette, but she had been too shy. I thought I had her figured out—A woman with an innovative mind, strong and real in every sense of the words. There’s more.

Beneath all of that was a soft heart. She was compassionate and forgiving. Strength without compassion could be cold, but she was as warm as a fire. And when I looked into the fire, I was caught. I could never look away again. Never wanted to. People may say it's just a silly crush and that I shouldn’t be so dramatic, but I knew that I’d never find anyone else like her.

And her lips, her mouth. They were the stars in my dreams last night. I groaned in frustration, slumping in my seat.

_What is she doing now? Was she giving one of those gorgeous smiles to someone else? Laughing at someone else’s joke?_

I should’ve kissed her earlier. What the hell was I thinking?

“Sulky, much?” I turned to see Chad studying me, his head tilted to the side. “Class is over, but you still got your bitch panties on.”

“Quiet,” I said grumpily.

“Why’s he so salty?” Levi jumped into the now empty seat beside me. “Whatchoo do, Chad my man?”

Chad yawned, got up, and placed his phone in his back pocket. It vibrated non-stop. “Bet he’s not over his period cramps.”

“I got a tampon here. Just say the word and it shall be yours.”

I laughed good-naturally, “Fuck off, both of you.” 

_Why do I hang out with these guys again?_

Because my father said not to.

“It speaks,” Chad mumbled. 

Levi bumped his fist on my shoulder, rose. “Now, now, calm down, girls. Let’s get some munchies. I’m starving.”

“Got something to do first.” I stood, grabbing my backpack. “Meet you in class later.”

“Where are you going, Agreste?”

“To my obsession.”

I left.

My next class was in an hour. I usually hung out in the recreational room with Nino and some others, cafeteria with Chad and Levi, or somewhere outside of campus if I wanted some peace and quiet, but I wanted to wait for her, see her even for a few minutes after her class, walk with her to her next one.

I’d memorized her schedule. Today her classroom was in Building B. She still had forty minutes to go.

When I got to the main hallway, I was half upset to find that it was bustling with students.

Shit. Where to go?

The lecture theatres were housed in a separate corridor from the main hallway. Probably to keep the noise away while class was in progress. I was sure the theatre beside hers wouldn’t be occupied for a while, where my next class would be and headed there. I pulled out my phone and twirled it in my hand, remembering to thank Max for removing all the bugs my dad put in it. Did she text?

That would be a fat stinking no, I thought as I stopped in the middle of the corridor, scrolling through my inbox. Nothing from her. I raked my fingers through my hair. Why was she so mad? Did I cross some line? I sent her a text.

_I’ll wait for you at the theatre next to your class._

I stared at my phone, waiting for the Read to pop up. It did. I licked my lips, waited for her reply.

Nothing.

Frustrated, I wiped my mouth with my hand. Just as I stepped forward and looked up, I froze.

“Hi, weirdo.”

My grin almost broke my face. It was my princess. “You talking to me again?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

She pointed her thumb in the direction of the theatre hall where I was going to wait for her. Her face didn’t show a hint of what she was thinking. My brows knitted in confusion. Was she going to give me shit for this morning? I’d just kiss her senseless. I let out a sigh and followed her in.

Darkness enveloped us the moment the door closed. The only light was from the projector suspended from the ceiling that the last class must have forgotten to turn off. It was a short video of the universe, played in a loop. Colorful lights and shadows lazily whirled around the room. For a moment I forgot that we were on campus, that it was just the two of us alone in this room, and that we both could do whatever we wanted to each other.

In the dark, she looked like a magical nymph. Stars glided on her face, planets danced across her breasts and galaxies floated on her legs. Her long dark hair poured down her back like a waterfall. My breath caught. She was irresistible, exquisite.

“What are we doing here, Marinette?”

 _Jesus._ My voice was thick.

Suddenly she looked nervous. She was about to take a step back, when I hooked an arm around her, just above her ass. I heard her take a sharp breath before it turned into a moan when my fingers curled around her hips, pulled her closer, closer. Pressed my chest against her breasts. _God,_ she felt fucking incredible.

“Tell me.”

I wrapped my long fingers on her wrists, dragged her hands up to my chest. She seemed to like that, sliding her palms across my shoulders, squeezing my biceps, my forearms, and then back to my chest again. She gently, very gently laid her lips on my throat and licked, and when she heard me groan, licked it again. I turned rock hard instantly.

“You like that?”

My fingers dug deeper into her hips and it was all I could do not to push her against the wall, drag her panties down her legs, and fuck her senseless. I wanted her like I never wanted anyone before.

“Yeah.” I could barely breathe. “I like that.”

Heat glided through my veins when she reached for the bottom of my sweater, her thumbs grazing the tops of my pants. I sucked in a breath.

She stopped, her huge sapphire blue eyes—clandestine, nervous, excited—focused on my face, watching my every reaction. Trying to see if she was doing a good job, if she was making it good for me.

_Oh, this woman._

“What are you up to, milady?” 

Her hands gingerly slid inside my sweater, palms flat on my stomach. We both moaned at the contact, the electricity her touch ignited. I surged my hips up against her hips, wishing she’d move her hands down, squeeze me through my jeans.

“Show me more,” I murmured.

My arms curled around her, fingers seeking the soft, delectable flesh above her ass. She arched her back, silently telling me she wanted more. I ground my hips against her, made her feel how hard I was. My hands slid up, teasing the lock on her bra.

She moaned, but gripped my biceps, pulling my arms down to my sides and looking up at me. Her eyes told me what her mouth didn’t.

I made a rough sound at the back of my throat. She wanted control. I wasn’t too sure about this request. I loved being in control—enjoyed it immensely. But I enjoyed her more.

“What do you want?” My voice sounded rough to my ears.

Instead of answering she leaned into me. In the dark, I could smell the faint strawberry of her hair, hear her tiny, quick breaths, feel the heat of her body.

“I’ll give it to you. You only need to ask.”

I wanted to drop to my knees and spread her legs, show her what it was like. I wanted her to know the urgency, the sharp pain, and the _need_ for it as I pleasured her with my lips. My teeth. My tongue. My fingers. I wanted to hear her cry out, dig her fingers into my scalp, feel the tight press of her legs around my shoulders.

“ _Mari._ ”

Her mouth was a breath away from mine, but she leaned away when I tried to claim it. I licked my lips, watching her mouth. Thinking of all the things I wanted her to do with it.

“Nu-uh.” She shook her head.

Had I wanted anyone so desperately before? Had I even wished for it? Never. Until Marinette.

I closed my eyes when she flattened her palms on my stomach, leaned closer, and placed her mouth to my ear. I shivered when I felt her warm, sweet breath.

“Later,” she murmured and pulled away.

My jaw hung open. I watched in stunned silence as she opened the door, threw me one last look, and smiled—that knowing smile that a woman gives a man when she knows she holds all the power—and closed the door to my face.

~~O~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't they make quite a pair? ;) And it seems as if our boy Adrien has grown to become a rascal. But, I assure you, the both of them are virgins.
> 
> A small rant here: writing Adrien's pov was a lot of fun. It might seem a bit ooc but if you think about it, the personality i created for him is actually quite realistic. In the actual tv series, Adrien was around 13 or 14 years old, still grieving his mother's death. this one is 17 years old. The boy is going through puberty and thus- inappropriate thoughts and explicit content on his computer. Also, given the way his father treats him, it's not like he would always remain obedient to his father (Chad and Levi are an example of that.) Expanding on that, in the tv series, Adrien had zero control over any part of his life, hence his thirst for control.  
> Next: Years of Ladybug brushing aside his feelings hurt him and his pride. A lot. I guess in a sweet way, he was also trying to get revenge, get his pride back. In my opinion, it's pretty realistic. Throughout the years, both marinette and adrien dated other people. Ladybug and Chat Noir fought. It's not uncommon to fight with the people you work with. After Ladybug started like liking Chat, she didn't want to tell him vocally, because she rejected his feelings many times already. It would be humiliating for her to go after Chat the minute he stopped paying attention to her. that's why she tried to use her body language to subtly tell him that she wants him. If Chat knew that or not, we'll never know.


	9. Eyes Close.

~~O~~

It was as if a dam broke inside of me, spilling out all of my feelings and fears and insecurities. Flooding my sense of logic and reasoning. I felt a lump building in the back of my throat. It was all too much.

I just killed a man.

No...

I just _murdered_ a man.

The living room was a mess; pieces of glass everywhere, carpet stained with blood, Nariah’s vases, statues, scrolls, and antiques thrown around, the curtains torn, the smashed center table, and--

And I was just standing there, in the middle of it, eyes wide, lips bruised, shattered glass lodged into my hickey covered neck and holding a knife and there was blood in my mouth and-and--

Three dead bodies were lying on the ground in front of me.

I screamed.

A high-pitched, blood-curdling scream.

I couldn’t take it. I threw the knife away and it flew and embedded itself beside the front door. I shakily took a step forward, my breathing coming out in short, ragged breaths. “N-Nariah?”

Trembling, I walked forward a couple more steps. When I knelt next to Nariah and saw her condition, a feeling of anxiety and impending doom rose inside of me.

She was lying on her back with her hands pressing on her bullet wounds. Some of her long hair escaped the bun and her two identical strands of white hair were hanging loose. On her pure and pristine white dress, blood blossomed like a red lotus flower. Her arms and legs were covered with bruises and her face was twisted into a painful grimace. Dried sweat, tears, and blood. It was a beautiful but devastating sight.

“Nariah...”

She’d been dealing with all those men for hours, and then got shot multiple times. She was probably in so much pain right now…

_“It hurts...”_

Horror washed over me, and my knees fell to the ground. My hands trembled as I lifted her and cradled her body in my arms, my fingers digging into her skin. Her motionless body was cold and heavy. My eyes burned. “Nariah, don’t you dare leave me!”

My face was white as a paper, my thoughts a mess. The only thing I knew was that she was leaving me, just like the others, and it filled me with fear. I did not believe in gods and deities, even when I went to church, I did not believe that they existed. However, now I prayed with all of my heart, for some god, somebody, to hear me, to hear my prayer…

Please don’t let her die, please don’t let her leave me… As long as she didn’t die, even if I have to exchange all of my properties, everything I have, I would willingly do it. As long as she didn’t leave me!

Because I finally realized…

I loved Nariah.

She wasn’t related to me, I barely knew her, and I don’t know what we are to each other…but I loved her. I don’t know if I loved her as a grandmother, mother, friend, sister, aunt...I don’t know. And I don’t care!

Because from the beginning when I met her, interacted with her, and spent more time with her, I already loved her. It was the first time I felt like I was welcome like I belonged with her...painting and loving and dancing our time away. I had just found someone who was so genuine, so kind, so loving and didn’t judge me. I was just getting ready to take her back home to Paris, where I’d introduce her to Rafe, and we’d all have the best time. I was just getting prepared, and I was already going to lose her!

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing her pained amber eyes. With difficulty, she smiled. She called out to me in a raspy voice.

_“Chloé...”_

Look, look at those beautiful eyes that are filled with fear and pain. They were staring at me, and the overflowing love in them could fill an ocean.

_“Keep this...”_

With the last of her remaining strength, Nariah lifted her arm. Clutched in her fingers was a golden chain. She dropped the chain in my palm and closed my fingers over it.

No…

Her hand reached out to touch my cheek and my body tensed up.

_“Mianhae, mala querida Chloe.”_

The words barely left her mouth when her hand slipped down from my cheek and fell to the ground. I reached down and grabbed it, feeling for her pulse. I gulped.

Eyes closed, the soul drifted away, leaving behind the cold body.

I felt that the body in my arms had stopped breathing and my mind went blank. The weak pulse on her wrist was also gone.

“N-Nariah…?”

I shook her, but she did not wake up. Panic clogged my throat, and I used more force with my hands. But the body in my arms remained motionless. There wasn’t a single sound in the room.

I was trembling all over. 

This can’t be true. This _cannot_ be true.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but it was like all my words were stuck in my throat. I wanted to stop her from leaving me, yell at her to wake up. I was crazy, desperately calling out Nariah’s name. I threatened her, cajoled her, pleaded with her to come back to me. But her body remained motionless.

Nariah, don’t you dare leave me...I forbid you! You definitely can’t leave me behind...I’m wrong, Nariah. Okay? I won’t complain anymore, I’ll be nice to everyone like you want me to...Can you please wake up? We’ll paint and dance and watch the stars every single day. You’re right. We can’t add another pinch of salt because that would ruin everything...

Because I ruin everything.

I was crying now. Brawling. But there wasn’t a single sound in the room. I was crying so hard it hurt to breathe. But there wasn’t a single tear that left my eye. My cries were trapped inside of me. I bent down, hugging Nariah’s face to my shoulder and wailing like a baby in her ear. Wishing she could hear me. Wishing I could hear myself.

_Why aren’t you smiling?_

I caressed her face, her neck, her shoulders. _Wake up. Please. For me._

My chest hurt so much.

_Didn’t we agree that you’d never leave me?_

~~O~~

The golden chain dangled from my hand as I watched the sun rise, filling the sky with shades of pink and orange. Peach and magenta, amber and rose. I stared as the mellow blues and pinks blurred together in a silver mist to create another gorgeous scene. Even when I was drowning in grief, my life falling apart, the sky remained beautiful.

Nariah loved watching the sunrise. She said each one was unique, bringing forth different feelings, responsibilities, and worries.

My chest seemed to tighten even more at the memory. I really didn’t like the feeling. It was like, suddenly, my heart was trapped in a small cage. It could still beat, the cage wasn’t squeezing my heart, but it was small enough for my heart to be restrained and uncomfortable. Like something heavy was hooked on to my heart, forcing me to drag it around with me.

I twirled the thin chain and wrapped it around my index finger, studying the pendant attached to it. It was plum blossom shaped, rimmed with gold, and had a branch of plum blossoms suspended in the middle. Not surprising. Nariah has a weird obsession with these flowers.

 _Had. She had, not_ has. Nariah _died._

The reminder almost made me cry.

After I watched Nariah die yesterday, I fell into a restless state of unconsciousness. I had woken up today at about 1 am and couldn’t fall back asleep. Seeing her corpse made me break down once again. After collecting myself a bit, I went to the bathroom and rigorously brushed my teeth, not stopping until my gums bled.

I had looked at my reflection in the water, my icy blue eyes staring back at me. Pale, tired, frowning face. Pink, bruised lips covering bloody gums. Messy, greasy hair. Clear strangulation marks on my throat. Blood trickling down from where the pieces of glass pierced my neck. I looked down at the dark rings of blue and purple around my wrists.

I felt so dizzy. I swayed, my hands clutched my head, and I tried to find my balance. Involuntarily, my mind took me back to yesterday.

Pictures flashed in my mind, Nariah being thrown inside the house and getting shot, her still body awkwardly falling as I watched with wide eyes from behind the bathroom door, my lips parting in horror. That man stalking towards me as I backed away in fear. My body being slammed against the shattered glass, his hands tightly encircling my wrists. His hands squeezing my butt as I watched Nariah slowly dying, hating myself for being in that position.

I relived the whole thing, crying silently.

Vaguely, I remembered that I should probably rinse my mouth; I wasn’t a vampire, swallowing so much blood would have some side effects.

Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I slowly got up and washed my face and mouth. When I saw my reflection again, my eyes looked expressionless, uncannily portraying the numbness I was feeling.

I removed as many pieces of glass from my neck as I could and then applied a herbal paste. I collected the books Nariah gave me from the laundry basket and walked back into the living room, swiftly stepping over the tattooed man’s dead body and crossing over to the kitchen island.

I wanted to grieve Nariah’s death but I knew that now was not the time.

I set the books on the island and picked up my notebook from the ground and set it on the counter as well. I lit some candles and tied my hair up into a ponytail. It was 2 am and I had no time to waste.

The first thing I did was to take care of the two bastard’s corpses. I took hold of the guns first, scoffing at them. Such low quality. I turned on the safety, my fingers gliding over the Thumb Safety, Safety Engagement Notch, and the Grip Safety. Magazine out, chamber empty, check for any bugs...Done. I tossed the four guns to the side. I went through the pockets in their vests and pants, gathered all the ammunition, and tossed all of it by the guns. I found a pocket-knife and tossed that with the guns too.

Then I went through the rest of the stuff in their pockets. Candy wrappers, keys, mints, dirty tissues, a couple of credit cards, passport-sized photos of family members, a driver’s license from the tattoo-guy (I couldn’t read the foreign language), random coupons, and… cash. Brazilian real, huh? I guessed right, these guys were from South America. Which means…

I shook my head. No need to jump to conclusions, I’ll find out soon enough anyway. 

I quickly calculated in my mind, about 85 euros? 50 dollars?

Not much.

I set the credit cards, cash, and some coupons beside the guns and ammo. I threw everything else in a different pile. I looked at the phones in my hand. Don’t know the passwords, can’t read anything, utterly useless. I placed them in the trash pile.

I dragged the bodies to the front yard, their blood staining all the floor. Uck. It’ll be hard cleaning that up later.

It was a moonless night so I could barely see anything. Perfect.

After dragging the bodies to a safe distance, I went back inside to get some candles, the trash pile, and some oil. I dumped the trash pile on the corpses and poured the oil all over them. Using the candles, I set the whole thing on fire.

I gathered some dry weed from nearby and periodically threw it in to fuel the flame. The fire had to be the perfect size. Nothing too big or small. The timing was critical.

Watching it, I felt a strange sort of relief. I was so satisfied that it was there, burning the two people who killed Nariah and harassed me.

I walked out of the house’s compound and gazed at the huge, charred field in front of me, breathing in the smoke. All the golden weeds were burnt away and the ground was a black, ugly color. Dry leaves, dead plants, dead bodies, fried cars, blood, guns, and ashes covered the land.

My lips quirked up. I had no doubt now that this was Nariah’s doing. Only she could be so dramatic.

I got two pieces of cloth and tied them around the bottoms of my feet for protection and then flitted around the field, collecting all the guns, ammo, money, knives, and cheap phones from all the bodies that weren’t burnt to crisp.

As time went on, the pile of trash and the pile of money and weapons kept growing. I shamelessly robbed the dead men and then dragged them back to the front yard so I could throw them in the fire, not intending to leave anything behind, not even their bodies. By the time I was done, the fabric covering my feet had been changed multiple times, my hands were covered with little scratches and blisters, and my whole body was pouring rivers of sweat.

It was actually pretty hard since it was so dark and some parts were still very hot, but I knew that regardless of these issues, I had to take care of this before dawn. I don’t know why these guys were hired to take out Nariah but their employer has got to be very powerful. Once he finds out that the people he hired failed to do their job, he’ll be very mad. And I didn’t want to be here when that happens.

I was in a very vulnerable position right now, alone in the middle of nowhere, a witness to something that shouldn’t have happened, close to Nariah, and still grieving. Not to mention my body is very weak right now, I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday, I lost a _lot_ of blood and am facing the effects of that, and I think I’ll also be facing some kind of PTSD after my adrenaline wears out. I was in a _bad_ position right now, without any kind of support, money, or information. Now was not the time to face some powerful enemy.

I cleaned up the living room as much as could and then took a quick break to relieve my legs and back. I ate something and thought about my situation—what to do next, if I left any loose ends, where I would be if I left this place, and the implications of my actions today. 

I felt uncomfortable thinking about the last part. I wanted to believe that Nariah had taken care of them all, but that simply wasn’t the truth. A good percentage of the bodies I collected were still intact; third-degree burns covered them all, but they were still intact. Which means...some of them were just unconscious, not dead.

I pushed the plate away. A rancid taste suddenly filled my mouth. 

I felt like throwing up.

Shaking my head, I pushed my thoughts _down,_ built walls of tungsten around them, and pushed them down, down, down. I stood on top of the walls, declaring hereafter that this was a taboo topic to even _think_ of. 

_Leave!_ I said, _As of this moment, you are banished from the confines of my mind!_

Then, using the strength of my determination and the last bits of sanity left in me, I drove the giant box of memories and thoughts away from my mind.

I shook my head. Am I looking into this too much, or is there a pattern here? Whenever I’m in a stressful situation I start to think of the weirdest things. It happened before too when I saw one of those men pick up my handmade notebook from the kitchen island.

I forced myself to get up and stop wasting time. It was already 4:45 am. I threw away the remaining food on my plate and drank some juice instead. I cleaned up my mess and then gathered some supplies. I headed to Nariah and stripped her. 

Dipping a hand towel in the water bucket, I wiped away all the dried sweat, blood, tears, dirt, and ashes off of Nariah. I would’ve tried to remove the bullets but I’m not skilled enough and I didn’t want to use Nariah’s corpse as an experiment. So, I just settled for stitching up her wounds and bandaging them. It was already unfortunate that I couldn’t give her a full bath because of the time crunch.

After properly cleaning Nariah’s body, I dressed her in one of the dresses she made for me. Since her body was about the same size as mine, it worked out. I had actually burned almost all of my dresses. I only left the clean set that Nariah was wearing, the clothes on my back, and one extra outfit.

_5:00 am_

I went outside to the little (read: big) garden Nariah had outside and collected some of the plants’ seeds, buds, stems, etc. to plant in my garden that is yet to be grown in the Bourgeois residence. After growing the beautiful plants, I’ll have a team of botanists research them and make millions off of the discoveries made.

 _It’ll be so much fun to go rub it in the little troublemaker’s face,_ I thought with an affectionate smile.

On my way, I picked up some gardening tools that I thought might help (she had a _big_ collection, completed with all kinds of tools).

I went to the main door of the house and counted my steps when I started to walk. 10 steps forward (straight), 7 steps to the right (sideways), and 5 steps to my upper left (diagonally).

I looked up at the sky and wondered if I had any idea about what I’m going to do. Probably not. Nobody would be crazy enough to do this anyway.

Setting aside the gardening tools, I weeded out the place and then steeled myself for the inevitable pain waiting for me.

Gripping the sharp spade with both hands, I thrust into the ground with all the force I could muster.

There wasn’t even a dent.

~~O~~

After wrestling with the ground for about an hour and a half, and using all kinds of weird tools that I didn’t know the name of, I finally managed to dig a grave.

If you could call it that.

The hole was 7 inches in and about 35 inches in length. Not enough, I know.

In my defense, however, grave digging was not one of the numerous things I was talented at. I wasn’t doing some huge-ass funeral or anything. I just wanted a (semi) proper burial...and nobody said that the corpse couldn’t be buried in a fetus position, right?

I blew a couple of strands of hair from my face and decided to stop dilly-dallying.

I took care of Nariah’s body and cleaned up a bit after.

But not before I dug another hole. Guess what I put in it.

I took a quick shower and ate a couple of fruits for breakfast. I gathered all of my supplies in a fabric bag and came outside just in time to see the sunrise. I took a deep breath.

I guess it’s time to say goodbye to this place.

~~O~~


End file.
